


Morally Indefensible

by blythechild



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Bullying, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Lies, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Prison, Racism, Redemption, Scars, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 61
Words: 80,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this alternate version of present day, Reid is a disgraced, former FBI agent from the White Collar Crime division who has been wrongfully convicted of the brutal murder of his partner, Elle Greenaway. Sent to a federal penitentiary and thrown in amongst other killers, he doesn't expect to survive too long until he catches the attention of a mercurial thief and gang leader named Hotch. Hotch offers Reid protection but he expects much in return, and ropes Reid into a paranoid plan to oust the prison warden. The more Reid sees of Hotch, the less he trusts him, and the more he realizes that his life is no longer his to control. Who do you trust when everyone is out for themselves, and how far will you go to ensure your own survival?</p><p> </p><p>This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal entertainment. This story contains graphic depictions of violence, explicit sexual situations, hateful and racist language, as well as mature subject matter and situations. IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY THOSE UNDER THE AGE OF 18.</p><p>Please see introductory notes for further warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT NOTE ABOUT WARNINGS:** This story contains graphic violence, hateful/racist/homophobic language, attempted rape, child abuse, graphic sexual content (dubious and consensual), drug abuse, alcoholism (minor), and minor character death. **Please take these warnings seriously - this is NOT a pleasant story.** If any of these issues are remotely triggering for you, do not read this fic. Also, for the record, I do not condone, espouse, embrace, or enjoy the hateful language or violent actions in this piece. They are used as tools to add a little verisimilitude to an experience that is foreign to most readers.
> 
> This was written for the 2013 cm_bigbang over on livejournal. Many thanks go out to writing2death - our fabulous mod - for her continuing dedication and her patience with all of my frantic emails ;) Also, a HUGE hug and extra large margarita goes out to kuriadalmatia, who braved her sanity by reading this beast over and over in order to give me valuable insight into what was working and what wasn't. Truly, this story wouldn't exist if it weren't for her solid feedback - thanks darling! Finally, during the 9 months that it took to write this, my dog slept next to me snoring and occasionally growling at my run-on sentences, comma splices, and clausal fragments. Though she doesn't give a damn about any of this, her presence was appreciated.
> 
> redpaint has created a fanmix to go with this story. It is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1015902). Thank you, blossom!
> 
> sunrisepink has translated this story into Chinese. [Here's the link](http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-142022-1-1.html) (please note that you must apply for an account at the site and login to see it). Thanks for the translation ;)
> 
> cassandrasfisher has created fan art for this story. It is [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5307764) Thank you!

As the bus bounced through the high stone walls on its neglected suspension, he didn’t mourn the loss of his freedom so much as the fact that he would never again see a tree in his lifetime. The perimeter fence was chain link and electrified, but he’d never be allowed to take in the view of the world beyond it. Inmates only passed by that fence on intake or release; the latter was something for which he would never qualify. Within that perimeter was the main security gate surrounded by a four storey high wall with guard towers at the corners. Within _that_ was the main prison area fenced in by a smaller stone wall. The set-up reminded him of a perverse take on a medieval town: the outer fence being the limits of the fiefdom’s reach, the main gate being the keep, and the inner wall being the ‘castle’ housing all of the criminal kings and psychopathic freaks in the clan of which he’d just become the newest member.

The bus lurched to an unceremonious halt and the driver shoved the folding doors open.

“Everybody out! No pushing - no talking - follow the guard’s instructions. _Move it, fish!_ ”

He rose from his seat and reminded himself to stand up straight. He was going to stand out here and he knew it. It would be best not to project the absolute terror that he felt to his new neighbors. He raised his head without looking anywhere in particular, straightened his shoulders and made his expression as bland as possible. He shuffled down the bus corridor and out into the grey yard beyond it. 

It wasn’t like it seemed in the movies - inmates weren’t shackled together - but his wrists were cuffed and loosely linked to a shackle around his ankles. It would prevent running with efficiency, but not much else. He decided that the chains were part tradition and part psychological re-enforcement of his newly diminished social designation: he was a pariah in the truest sense of the word. He had been cast out of society and was now untouchable, without rights or freedoms. He was one step away from being a slave. His intellect understood it and yet it was something that he _knew_ that he would never be able to accept. Something whispered inside him that this unwillingness to adapt would be the death of him.

Two armed guards flanked the row of inmates while another with a clipboard walked the line. Three guards to manage twenty-four criminals. Even with the shackles, the inmates could easily overcome the guards - the tower sentries wouldn’t get all of them… But they all stood quietly in a row, new to the system but already cowed by it. He wondered how many of them were thinking the same thought. How many new inmates thought of a mad break for escape in these first moments? He stood silently: he had no weapon, no confederates - he couldn’t even fight very well. And if he made it beyond the multiple walls and away from the inevitable manhunt that followed, where would he go? He had nothing and no one. Outside or in, he was imprisoned: only the scenery would change.

The guard with the clipboard stopped in front of him. 

“ _Doctor_ Spencer Reid.” The guard seemed vaguely amused. Reid wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say anything. “Well? Are you _Doctor_ Reid or aren’t you?”

“Yes sir, I am.”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “Polite, hmm. We’ll see how far that gets you… Says here that you’re a murderer.”

Reid’s spine stiffened and he forcibly swallowed the denial fighting its way up his throat. He knew that prisons were full of ‘innocent’ men. No one was going to be interested in his sob story. “Yes, sir.”

“Says here,” the guard leaned in close to his face “You killed a cop.”

He kept his face neutral. _Her name was Elle._ “Yes, sir.”

The guard stepped into Reid safe in the knowledge that Reid wouldn’t raise a hand against him. “That might gain you a little respect amongst some in here, but basically you’re just ice cream for freaks. The only thing standing between you and a brief, painful lifetime of whoring out every orifice for survival are COs like me. And I _hate_ cop killers.”

The last sentence was so quiet that it was almost inaudible. Reid broke his focus on the middle distance and looked directly at the guard. What he read there was power and, in this case, the promise of its denial. Reid had expected a certain amount of abuse to come from the guards but what he realized now was that they would achieve the same result by standing aside as the prison population did their work for them. Reid couldn’t stop the look of horror that passed across his face as he thought about his immediate future and how the guards would look on in benign amusement. 

“You are truly alone here, Doctor.” The guard smiled gently and backed up, checking down his clipboard before moving on to the next in line.

During the intake process - after he had been relieved of his possessions and physically assaulted with cold water and delousing agent - a formidable-looking CO had joined the others and looked over his file. The CO looked directly at him, his dark eyebrows pointed downward in a permanent scowl, and then beckoned him forward.

“Reid.” His hand gestured impatiently.

Reid came to stand before him but said nothing.

“Did you kill a cop?”

Reid’s lips thinned but he nodded anyway. The CO turned away from him as if he had suddenly disappeared, and called over the guard with the clipboard.

“Gerard, why isn’t this one going to the PC wing?”

CO Gerard gave the other guard a look that said he didn’t appreciate the question. “How should I know, Morgan? The form says Gen Pop, so that’s where I’m taking him.”

“Look at this.” CO Morgan pointed to something on Reid’s intake form that caused Gerard’s face to twitch before it assumed its mask of indifference again. “He won’t survive in Gen Pop - you know that.”

“Not my problem. The warden must have plans for him. Fucked if I’m gonna question the will of the Almighty Paper-Pusher. Are you?” Gerard smiled at Reid. “Besides, the little shit is getting what he deserves. Who knows? Maybe he’s tougher than he looks - he might make it. Are you tougher than you look, pencil-neck?”

Reid’s bowels turned watery at Gerard’s question but he stood still as he tried to figure out what the best course of action was. Gerard took a step towards him, but Morgan held him back with one hand.

“Get back in line, Reid.” Morgan mumbled.

It hadn’t occurred to Reid that there were distinctions of hell inside the prison walls, and that someone, somewhere, had made a conscious decision to shorten his life.


	2. Chapter 2

The rumors of new fish rippled through Gen Pop leaving aftershocks of excitement and hunger in their wake. The animals were restless and all of the COs were on heightened alert as a result. There was something vaguely disgusting about how quickly and inevitably men submitted to their baser instincts when incarcerated. Morgan was careful not to feel too righteous about his disgust; he knew that with just one mistake he could be like the men that he watched over every day, rattling the bars of their cages and salivating at the thought of sinking their teeth into fresh meat. It didn’t stop him from breaking out into a cold sweat every single time. If he didn’t have an obligation to fulfill, he’d request to take every intake day off from now until retirement.

Twenty-four fish were paraded into the main floor of Cell Block B. Newly scrubbed and demeaned, they stood in their orange jumpsuits holding their meager belongings while the COs sorted out their cell assignments. The tiers of cells erupted with the kind of mindless fervor usually reserved for rock concerts: men screamed, hooted, and generally made a great show of losing their shit from behind their locked cages. It was tradition - which is why the COs allowed it - but it was also payback for their own lost innocence. Not all of these men wanted a piece of the new inmates, but all of them wanted to demonstrate their dominance over them. It was easier to join in the mayhem than to prove it one by one in the yard. 

Morgan patrolled the cells on the third tier to ensure that nothing got out of hand during the intake process. He came to a stop next to a cell door that was quiet and calm, its occupant stared at the line-up of new faces intently.

“Boss.” The inmate nodded his head slightly in greeting. Morgan lifted one side of his mouth in a sarcastic smile and turned to face the man with the cold eyes and calm demeanor. The inmate’s gaze never wavered from the line of men below as he leaned his arms through the cell bars and sighed. “So?”

“It’s a pretty standard group.” Morgan lowered his voice in the din. “Mostly Third Strike losers… there’s an armed robber who’s above average. His sheet says that he’s responsible for nearly a hundred jobs in the last ten years. The only reason why he’s here is because he got dimed out by a former partner. He’s the third one from the left.”

The inmate shook his head. “If he can’t figure out who to trust with information, he’s no use to me.” The man scanned the line-up again and jutted his chin forward. “Who’s the scrawny guy - the one with the glasses?”

“He ain’t gonna make it - look at him.” Morgan huffed.

“Exactly. He’s easy pickings. What’s his story?”

“His sheet says that he’s a doctor.”

The inmate looked at Morgan for the first time as he raised a curious eyebrow. “I didn’t know that the courts took such a dim view of malpractice cases these days.”

“He’s not that kind of doctor, and his sheet says that he’s in for first degree murder - he killed a cop.”

The inmate squinted at the line-up again. “Interesting.”

“There’s more.” Morgan leaned in closer to the bars. “He used to be FBI. He was in the White Collar Crime division.”

The inmate fixed Morgan with a paralytic stare. “So, what? When I asked you if there were any in this group of interest, you decided to _omit_ this one? Or were you trying to tease out a little anticipation from me? I didn’t know that you had a flare for the dramatic, Morgan…”

“He’s _a cop_.”

“And as such, he should be housed in the protective wing, shouldn’t he? That should tell you a little something about what the Warden thinks of him - or maybe that she intends to test his mettle. What’s more, Morgan, is that he _isn’t_ a cop anymore… I’ll bet you that the moment he was charged the Bureau cut all ties with him. He’s less than no one now. He probably doesn’t have a family either - he’s completely alone and he knows it. He’s _perfect_.”

Morgan couldn’t hide the disgust that flickered across his face.

“Is there a problem?” The inmate’s voice was icy.

“I don’t care if he killed a school full of children, he’s a cop. There are some things that you just don’t do…”

“Think of it this way,” The inmate’s face was now inches from the bars where the light could illuminate his dark eyes and the long lines of his scowl. “If he takes my offer, I will have saved his life. If not…”

The inmate straightened and lifted his hands to gesture to the cacophony surrounding them. Morgan glanced down at the skinny fish below and wondered if he was aware of how his choices were dwindling while he stood there.

“It’s his choice, Morgan. I won’t force him.”

“You’re a bastard.” Morgan growled.

“Sure - I’m getting the job done.” The inmate smirked.

After a grim pause, Morgan spoke. “So, should I arrange something?” 

“No, I’ll make the introductions. Then, we’ll see what he does.”

“Fine.” 

Morgan turned on his heel and walked down the tier, unleashing his billy club on any unsuspecting fingers or faces that flirted too long with the bars. It was petty and beneath him, but for a moment it made him feel a little better for having served up a former brother-in-blue for god knows what. He tried not to pay attention to the sinking feeling he felt as he slid down towards something more mammalian within him.


	3. Chapter 3

Reid supposed that he should have considered himself lucky that he was sent to an old prison. It was one of the few left in the country that dated back to the 1920s. As a result, his cell was single occupancy and, despite the unceasing catcalls of the other inmates on his first night, he did not worry that he would be raped, beaten, or shanked in his cell after lockdown. The terror that he felt in the yard had been nothing compared to the free-form horror of walking into Gen Pop. It hadn’t really sunk in until then that he was going to die in this place, and probably sooner rather than later. 

He had been told about the prison’s schedule - four daily prisoner counts, three meals, two work detail rotations - but he was struggling to understand the hierarchical nuances within each segment. After fumbling his way through First Count and then breakfast in the cafeteria, a CO waved him over and escorted him to the prison metal shop for his first work shift. The shop frightened him with its population of overly muscled, callused workers and the myriad of objects and machines that could be used as weapons. Reid had never done a single day of hard labor in his life and, fortunately, when the metal shop supervisor saw him, he laughed and waved him off.

“You’re fucking joking, right?” The supervisor spoke to the guard while sneering at Reid. “The Warden has a strange sense of humor… take him to the laundry. I can’t use him here.”

“Strauss will be pissed…” The guard warned.

“Fuck her - he’s got the upper body strength of a newborn. Tell her if she has a problem with it, that I determined it was a safety issue. I’ll even fill out her blessed paperwork saying so. She’ll have to find another way to get her kicks outta him.”

The supervisor turned back to his work detail and barked for the inmates to focus on their tasks. As Reid was shoved back through the doorway, he noticed that one pair of eyes lingered while the others went back to their die cutters and metal presses.


	4. Chapter 4

It turned out that laundry work was a coveted detail. The work was repetitious but easy, the room was warm and distractingly noisy, and when his four-hour shift was done the worst thing that he could complain about was that the bleach had irritated his hands. The inmates on his work shift were mostly older, institutionalized lifers who were more interested in getting their work done and back to the yard for a smoke than in harassing a new fish. Many of them had grey hair, leathered skin, and a practiced isolation about them that said ‘ignore me and I’ll do the same’. Reid breathed a sigh of relief at his temporary reprieve as he followed the work shift inmates into the cafeteria for lunch.

Meals were a little like feeding time at a wildlife park. Alike species clung together in clumps; predators and prey warily eyeing each other across trays of grey food. The predators were easy to spot - tattoos, fearless provocative eye contact - but the cafeteria was also a safe place for prey to congregate. They sat together, their eyes flicking over one another’s shoulders for threats, knowing that their numbers offset the risk of an attack here if nowhere else. Reid fell into this group with ease, his physical appearance and his ‘newness’ being proof enough that he belonged there. Still, no one made eye contact with him or invited him into a conversation. He choked down his food as fast as he could, not wishing to overstay his welcome. 

With his allotted daily work shift fulfilled, he wondered where would be the safest location to spend the rest of his day. After lunch, there would be another Count, followed by five hours of open time before dinner, another Count, and finally, the relative safety of his cell for lockdown. He had no idea what to do or where to go, and then, it occurred to him that this was _just his first day_. He could look forward to a lifetime of this routine. 

His food almost came back up.

He pushed his tray away from him, looked up and found that same set of eyes from the metal shop on him. They were dark, like twin black holes, framed by a long angular face with lines that indicated he didn’t spend much time smiling. He was older but fit - not pumped up like so many in stir, but taunt and alert - like a fighter who knew how to carry himself. He held Reid’s glance firmly but neither communicated nor acknowledged him; it was more like an assessment. But above everything else, the stare was cold, calculating. Reid repressed the shiver that tried to rattle him and looked back down at the table space directly in front of him. He took a couple of deep breaths and was about to stand when he heard the men around him shift and grow quiet. A large hand clamped down on his shoulder and squeezed to the point of pain as a stubbled jaw grazed his cheek.

“Hey, fish.” His breath smelled of coffee and tooth decay. Reid shuddered and looked up to see that his table had cleared away silently and that other predators were assiduously looking elsewhere.

“Fish!” The hand cranked down harder on his shoulder. “I’m being congenial here…”

“Hi.” Reid meeped. He looked to his side and saw an arm tattooed with swastikas and skulls caging him to the table.

The vice-like grip suddenly shifted and Reid found himself abruptly turned to face his companion. He was muscled and heavily tattooed, the most horrifying of which was a screaming demon’s skull across his bald head. The man smiled, revealing his mouth of rotted teeth, and then grabbed Reid’s chin and yanked him closer.

“Christ! You’re almost as pretty as a girl!” he chuckled. “Must be my lucky day… gettin’ to you first…”

“I assure you,” Reid whispered. “I am not a girl and I will not act like one to ease your doubts about your own homosexuality.”

He had no idea where he had found the gumption to speak up, but it was clear to him as soon as he said it that it was an accurate analysis. It was also the stupidest thing that he had ever uttered aloud. The tattooed man yanked Reid upright by his chin and stood so that they were nose to nose.

“I ain’t no fucking fairy, shitbird, and when I’ve ridden your ass raw and bloody, you’ll know which one of us is a real man.” Reid felt the tattooed man press his pelvis against him.

“You’re not doing much to disprove my theory here…”

The tattooed man hissed and reared back a little but was prevented from making another move by a yell from behind him.

“Golem! Step away… now!”

Reid’s heartbeat pounded against his temples and throat as Golem released him and stepped aside with arms raised to face CO Morgan.

“Just introducing myself to the new fish, Boss.”

“And I’m sure that he appreciated your subtlety and gentility, Golem. Now get back to your crew - lunch is over. Everyone line up for Counts!”

At once, the cafeteria rose and started a desultory walk back to the cell block. Golem shot Reid a rotten smile that promised another conversation in the near future, and fell in line. Reid made to do the same but was stopped by the end of a billy club.

“You need to check that smart mouth of yours, kid, before it gets you killed.” Morgan huffed.

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t ‘yes sir’ me - there aren’t any gentlemen in here. It’s ‘Boss’ or ‘CO’, got it?”

“Yes Boss.”

The end of the club pushed harder against Reid’s chest. He looked up at Morgan for the first time.

“You get some protection in here and fast, you understand me? Believe it or not, there are worse things in here than being Golem’s bitch.”

Reid swallowed down the shaking that threatened to show itself now that his rush of adrenaline had worn off, and nodded to Morgan. Clearly he couldn’t depend on anyone, but at least Morgan seemed fair-minded. He wanted to ask him _how_ to survive, _who_ to trust, but it was a foolish impulse. Perhaps Morgan didn’t want to see him dead as Gerard did, but he probably couldn't care less about how his life turned out in here. Reid waited and then merged into line amongst a group that had been at his lunch table. No one looked at him. As he headed for the door to the cell block, he looked around for the dark-eyed convict who had been watching him, but couldn’t make him out in the sea of orange jumpsuits and averted faces.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey man, those look like they hurt.”

Despite the din of the industrial washers, Reid jumped at the sound of a voice so close to him. He swiveled quickly and placed his back to one of the machines, preparing to meet his attack head on. His face started to pound as he felt his body’s survival instincts force the blood from his head out toward his limbs.

“Whoa… didn’t mean to startle ya.”

A stooped man with grey hair raised his cracked hands in surrender and smiled at Reid. Reid grimaced and began to calculate escape routes from the laundry room.

“S’okay. My name’s Jenkins. I ain’t gonna hurt ya and I don’t have any desire for your ass.” Jenkins smiled again. “I’ve been watching you duke it out in here all week. Looks like it’s starting to take its toll on you, though.”

Jenkins pointed to Reid’s swollen left cheekbone, his purpling eyes, and his busted lip. There were also bruises along his ribs and a nasty collection of scratches along his neck from an unwanted encounter in the showers the day before. Despite all of that, he was still a free agent and determined to stay that way. But it had been a hell of a week.

“Jenkins.” Reid nodded and slowly relaxed his stance. He picked up the sheets he had dropped and headed to the nearest available machine. “I’m Reid.”

“Nice to meet you, Reid.” Jenkins followed him with his own load of sheets. “What you in for?”

“Murder.”

“No shit?” Jenkins looked at him curiously. “You don’t seem the type.”

“I hate it when people say that.”

Jenkins shrugged and let the comment go. “So, still haven’t been claimed, huh? I gotta say that the odds makers are taking a bath on you…”

“I don’t understand why it means so much to everyone.” Reid spoke through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t seem to be an issue with the other fish…”

“That’s ‘cause they’ve all been claimed already.” Jenkins waited for Reid’s look of surprise. “Many of the guys that you rode in here with had juice from previous stays - prison has a long memory that way. But of the new guys - most gave in after the first night. Except that young banger… the gangs and the Muslim Brotherhood wouldn’t take him, so Golem busted his head open in the showers _afterwards_ …”

Jenkins shot Reid a meaningful look.

“I don’t want to belong to anyone. I just want to be left alone.” Reid shook his head and started the washer.

“Listen to me, kid, I’ve been here a long time and this place has got rules that you can’t change. You ain’t nobody and nobody knows you. You ain’t got no juice. That means that _you gotta_ run with someone in here who _does_ matter. Or continue fightin’ until you’ve established your own cred, but - no offense - I don’t think that you got that kinda stayin’ power regardless of your track record so far.”

Reid sighed and leaned against a trolley of dirty sheets. Jenkins came and stood beside him.

“If you make the right choice, it ain’t that bad.” 

Reid gave Jenkins a dubious look. 

“Seriously. You do a few things to prove that you’re loyal and then you can do your own thing. You gotta look at it like this: drawing men to you is like stockpiling money. ‘Cept money is useless in here, see? What the gangs are stockpiling is _power_. Most don’t give a shit about who does what to whom. Like the Muslims - they don’t truck with the fairies but they ain’t above _controlling_ others by farming out ass to them. You get it?”

Reid had to admit that Jenkins’ theory confirmed most of his casual observances since he arrived.

“The Aryans want to establish white power, the street gangs want to crush the Aryans, the Mexican gangs want to control the drug trade and take over the street gangs’ slice… it goes on and on. The only thing that keeps this whole place from breaking out into all-out war is the power that each group holds back. If a gang loses enough power and assets, the others attack them and the winner absorbs whatever’s left. Nothing undefended stays unclaimed for long. If you’ve got a special skill - something that makes you more valuable than just a piece of ass - _that’s_ your power, and its just a matter of leveraging it. You special at anything, Reid?”

“I have doctorates in chemistry, mathematics, and engineering.”

Jenkins stared as his eyebrows slowly crawled up his brow. “How the fuck did you get here?”

“I trusted the wrong person.” Reid said finally.

“Was it a woman? I bet it was a woman…”

“It was someone who should have had my back.” Reid narrowed his eyes at Jenkins. “And it taught me that even those who seem trustworthy have their price.”

“Whatever, man. We’re just talkin’ here.”

“Who do you belong to, Jenkins?”

Jenkins gave Reid a tired, experienced smile. “No one. In the beginning I did, but he got shivved back in ’98 and I’ve been on my own ever since. I’m too old and too broken down to matter to anyone now. And I’ve developed skills that are valuable enough to keep me out of trouble.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, kid, really.” Jenkins sighed and clapped Reid on the shoulder. “You’re smart - I bet you know who Darwin was, right?”

“Of course. Is this where you give me some ‘survival of the fittest’ encouragement? Because Darwin’s evolutionary theory doesn’t apply here for several reasons, not the least of which…”

“ _Adapt_ , kid.” Jenkins interrupted. “That’s all you gotta do.”

Jenkins looked up at the clock in the laundry room. “Look at that - it’s quittin’ time.”

Reid watched Jenkins as he returned the cleaning solvents to the chemical lock-up with some of the other inmates. They all formed a line as the work guard made a quick count before they headed out to lunch. Reid heard his name called but when he looked up he found that it was Jenkins staring at him, not a CO.

“For what it’s worth, kid, my money’s on you.” He winked and they marched out of the laundry.


	6. Chapter 6

Reid crouched in the yard soaking up the weak spring sunshine. He’d learned that being in the open was the safest place for him when he wasn’t on work detail. The prison was old with too many dark corners and null spaces - so many opportunities for an unsuspecting con to get jumped. In the yard, he was in full view of the inmates as well as the guards. If anyone decided on a brazen attack, personal disgust or not, the COs would have to put a stop to it before they had a full-scale riot on their hands. Reid discovered that techniques he had honed in high school to avoid bullying helped him stay alive in prison. The real difference was that if he let his guard drop for a moment he might end up dead instead of the victim of an atomic wedgie.

He rested his head against the stone wall to his back (always his back, he mustn’t fall victim to a blindside attack) and closed his eyes. He felt the sun fall across his bruises, both healing and new, imagining the heat might ease their ache. He didn’t know how long he sat there, or if he dozed, but the sudden loss of heat and the shadow that fell across his face roused him to complete consciousness immediately. He hadn’t heard his footsteps, but the dark-eyed convict stood inches from the tips of Reid’s boots looking down at him.

“Summer’s coming.” He murmured.

Reid’s heart was hammering. It was stupid of him to have relaxed as much as he had. At least this offer would be made with restraint being in full view of the prison population. He was still stiff from the beating he had taken the previous day from the Mayan member who had caught him alone on the way back to his cell.

“Are you making an offer?” Reid croaked.

The dark man merely nodded and looked around casually.

Reid didn’t know how to move the conversation along. Most cons were pretty upfront and obvious about their terms. “Wanna take a seat?” he ventured.

“Apologies for my rudeness, but, no. Sitting would imply confederacy, and we haven’t come close to establishing that yet.”

 _Yet. Smug bastard._ Reid thought.

The man was much taller than Reid had guessed from a distance, but he had been correct about the fighter part. This man was completely aware of his surroundings taking in the moving population with lateral glances. He moved on the balls of his feet, his muscles were loose and his joints unlocked to make any number of movements possible at a moment’s notice. The creases on his face were partly from scowling and partly from age and sun exposure - he probably would’ve been active even if prison hadn’t made it a necessity. His age peaked Reid’s interest though. He was in his mid-forties, making him the oldest thug to have approached him so far. His age gave him a reserve and implied authority that spoke louder than any of the various beatdowns he had received from younger cons. He wasn’t the youngest or the strongest or the biggest, but he was still there and went unmolested. That reeked of power. Reid gave the yard a quick glance and saw that many inmates were watching their meeting intently. This man’s actions influenced others…

“I want you to know that I admire your tenacity, misguided as it is… no one thought that you would hold out this long.”

“I’m sorry?” Reid’s back stiffened as he arched an eyebrow at the insult.

“You aren’t yet but you will be if you persist.” The dark man smiled. “That’s not a threat, just a reality of life in stir.”

“Your sales pitch could use some work - it’s a little insulting. Who the hell are you anyway?” 

“Forgive me. My name is Hotch. And you,” he leaned over Reid so that his face was all Reid saw. “You are _fish_. You are fodder - raw material to be acquired. I’m not offering you terms on a sale. We are not haggling. You either accept my protection or not - I lose nothing with either outcome. The conditions of my proposal are favorable to _me_ and no one else. There is no charity in prison.”

Reid found himself breathless. Hotch stared down at him, nothing menacing in his body language, but his eyes indicated his detachment from the situation. It was if he was explaining the universe to an ant; he was under no obligation to do so and he couldn't care less if he was understood.

“You are still laboring under the delusions of a free man. You are not free. You are no longer a sovereign, impermeable island of one, and the rights that you once held so dear are little more than lip service in here. You need to get right with that as soon as possible. It’ll make your life a whole lot easier to negotiate.”

Reid looked away. He couldn’t stand up to the calm, crushing reality of Hotch’s stare. It was one thing to acknowledge that he was alone, but it was another to accept that he amounted to nothing in the world.

“What did you do to get here?”

Reid looked back at Hotch. “I was a cop. I killed a woman - my partner.”

Hotch spent an entire minute looking at him before he smiled and stood up straight.

“No, you didn’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong: it’s not because I don’t believe you capable of it…”

Reid was alarmed and annoyed by how much that statement pleased him.

“… But I believe that if you intended to kill someone, it would never have been linked back to you. You plan… you formulate - even now you’re calculating all possible outcomes of this conversation and trying to create an advantage for yourself despite what I said earlier.”

Reid masked his surprise with a bland expression from his poker playing days. Hotch was a good cold reader, which made him the most dangerous person that he had met so far. Hotch smiled.

“Let me guess - the prosecutor at your trial put forth a jilted lover motive? If you couldn’t have her, nobody could - am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Typical. Juries love crimes of passion… it makes them feel safer, like it could never happen to them.” Hotch waved his hand dismissively. “Did you love her?”

“Of course I did.” Reid snapped.

“Yes, yes… of course.” Hotch seemed genuinely amused by this conversation, as if he was giving a well-rehearsed performance. “You loved her but you weren’t _in love_ with her.”

Reid looked away again, his lips thinning to two pale lines.

“She put her needs before your partnership, but even so, you tried to protect her, didn’t you? It hurts you that people think that you would ever let her down even though she disappointed you… even though she failed you first…”

Reid looked back up and saw that Hotch’s expression had changed. It was contemplative, perhaps even perplexed. Reid didn’t know how to react or how to take this man’s evolving moods. He just stared back without comment.

“Interesting.” Hotch mumbled. “Prisons are packed with the innocent but it’s rare to actually meet one in the flesh…” 

“What do you want from me?” Reid almost choked on the words.

“It’s simple. I want your absolute loyalty and your companionship when I choose it.”

“Companionship?”

“It is exactly what you think: you do what I say whenever I say it. Without question.”

Reid couldn’t help but cringe a little.

“There you go - thinking about your inviolable sovereignty again…” Hotch sighed. “It’s a choice, fish, one of the last free ones that you’ll ever make in here. I won’t force you - I leave the heavy-handed tactics to my competitors.”

Reid raised his hands to hold his face before thinking and then jerked them away as the swelling throbbed in response. His choices so far had led him through a gauntlet of pain and the path before him only promised more of the same. He was not a brave man by nature. He had the usual tolerances to pain and the adverseness to brutality. But the one thing that he felt superior in was his ability to do right regardless of the personal cost. He’d tried to do that for Elle and it had landed him a life sentence. He was trying to do it for himself in prison but was smart enough to see that it was a battle that he would eventually lose. He stared down at his bruised and bloodied knuckles, flexing his swollen joints and feeling every moment of the ache in them completely. Who was he holding out for anymore? Who was he doing right by? His family was dead and his friends were gone. The closest thing to an honest conversation that he’d had in months had occurred with a frightening convict who was negotiating user rights over his anus. How had a life of ideas and good intentions ever come to this?

“You will accept an offer - it’s an inevitability.” 

Hotch began to speak but his voice was a whisper. Reid looked up at him only to discover that his expression had changed again. This time it almost looked like… sympathy.

“The only variables that remain are when and what options will be open to you when you choose. A few more beatings like those you’ve been receiving daily, and your offers will dry up. Everyone knows that pretty girls get their pick of dancing partners…”

Hotch leaned his arm against the stone wall and cast a full shadow over Reid.

“I promise to protect you. I won’t terrorize you, beat you, or whore you out to others. I also won’t allow you to abuse yourself - that includes drugs.” Hotch nodded towards Reid’s arms that were covered by long cotton sleeves. He resisted the urge to scratch his old track marks. _How the hell did he know about that?_

“Your mind is as important a commodity as your body. If you damage one part, the other is useless to me. You need to understand this. I expect the society of your mind while under my protection - intelligent conversation is a rarity here, as you might well imagine. But,” Hotch raised a single warning finger. “I will not stand for you to question my authority at any time. Period. Can your brilliant mind embrace those contradictions?”

“I don’t know.” He truly didn’t.

“Fair enough.” Hotch pushed himself from the wall and turned away, striding across the yard like a free man. “I told you that I wouldn’t force you, fish. If you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll still be amenable…”

Reid remained crouching in the sun but felt cold all over. The man walking away from him was clearly a sociopath, but he had also offered him a way out of hell, dubious conditions notwithstanding. And there was something in the manner of him that bothered Reid. He seemed… _unconstrained_ … as if the rules that he had so patiently explained to Reid simply didn’t apply to him. For all of Hotch’s pontificating against personal sovereignty, he appeared free, and Reid was determined to puzzle out how the man made that happen.


	7. Chapter 7

For the first time in a week, Reid was thankful for mushy, unidentifiable food. His face throbbed with every movement, every expression - so much so that the thought of chewing almost brought him to tears. His lunch was so soft that all he really had to do was force it in his mouth and swallow, and he needed the calories more than he needed to know what it had once been. 

“Jesus, you actually look like you’re enjoying that.” Jenkins slid onto the bench next to Reid.

“Thankfully, pain receptors are more powerful than taste buds. Today, it doesn’t really taste like anything to me.”

“Huh. I see that you’re still making friends the old fashioned way…” Jenkins waved his fork in the general direction of Reid’s bruised face.

Reid nodded and then winced and stifled a groan.

“I also heard that you met Hotch.”

Reid turned and stared at Jenkins. The older man didn’t look away.

“I just figured out what your ‘special skill’ is - you are a trafficker of information, aren’t you, Jenkins?”

The older man smiled and went back to playing with his food. “Am I that obvious?”

“No. But it just occurred to me that Hotch seemed to _assume_ a lot about me during our brief conversation. As talented as he may be at reading people, I doubt that he’s omniscient. You are the only person that I’ve talked to in here.”

Reid turned on Jenkins. “Do you work for him? Did you introduce yourself to lobby on his behalf?”

“I don’t work for nobody and yet I service everyone.” Jenkins smiled but it wasn’t genuine - as folksy as he seemed, the suggestion that he was ‘owned’ appeared to anger him. “That’s what makes me invaluable: no alliances. But for what it’s worth, Hotch is probably your best bet.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, he’s one cold bastard - and a scary motherfucker in a fight - but I ain’t never caught him in a lie. Not once. When he says a thing, he _does_ it. He’s about as plain a dealer as you’re likely to find in a society of thieves, liars and murderers.”

Reid thought on that for a moment. “What did he do, Jenkins? He doesn’t seem to belong here.”

“He doesn’t talk about it. The word is that he’s an armed robber. A good one. Some say that if it can be locked up, he can find a way to steal it.”

“If he’s so good, how did he get caught?”

Jenkins shrugged and took in the cafeteria with a lazy glance. “How do most accomplished crooks get pinched? Someone talked.”

Reid searched the cafeteria faces until he found Hotch. The man sat surrounded by his usual companions who leaned forward as he spoke to them. Some smiled occasionally, others nodded and added a comment or two. The whole scene was remarkably normal. If it weren’t for the surroundings and the matching jumpsuits, they could have been a bunch of guys trading stories over a beer somewhere. Hotch looked up suddenly and caught Reid’s stare - he didn’t try to communicate anything and he didn’t look away, he just held the other man’s gaze. Reid flinched first and looked down at his lunch tray, ashamed at his obvious lack of power. But he had to admit that the older man puzzled him. Reid couldn’t imagine what value Hotch saw in him besides the obvious physical one. It was clear that the man had plans for Reid - he’d been sure to state that he expected Reid’s _mind_ as well as his body if he chose to align with his camp. Reid felt that if he accepted Hotch’s protection, he’d be signing himself onto a large unknown, and despite Jenkins’ assertion of Hotch’s ‘plain dealings’, he wasn’t comfortable with that at all. 

Reid wasn’t comfortable with the concept of trust anymore. But there was something else as well: Reid wanted to know how Hotch maintained his aura of freedom. It was compelling and Reid hoped that it didn’t come at the cost of others. But even if it did, when looking down the barrel of a life sentence, Reid wondered how far he’d be willing to go in order to mimic Hotch. How monstrous would he become to be the king of his cage?

When Reid looked up again, Hotch had returned to his conversation. Eventually the guards called for Counts and Reid fell into line behind Jenkins without a word. He gave himself one more day to make his decision.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day Hotch and his crew weren’t at breakfast. During a sleepless night Reid had weighed all available evidence and had made his decision, but now doubt seeped into his gut and spread fear through his bloodstream like poison. During the relative peace of lockdown, Reid felt as if he had a choice to make and that he was making the right one, but now he doubted whether he’d _ever_ had any choice in the matter. With the solution to his problem demonstrably missing, he wondered what options - if any - still remained to him.

He sat at a ‘prey’ table staring at a tray of food he knew he wouldn’t keep down when another tray clattered onto the table next to him. He jumped up into the air and landed on his feet, prepared to face his next beating with as much energy as he could manage on an empty stomach.

“Wow, you’re twitchier than a cat in a roomful of rockin’ chairs…” Jenkins smiled around a mouthful of dry toast as he sat down in front of his tray. “Yer nerves are gonna start givin’ me indigestion.”

“Perhaps you could stop sneaking up behind me then…” Reid grumbled and took his seat again.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jenkins chuckled.

Reid sighed and took a series of deep breaths to calm himself. He watched Jenkins shovel his breakfast of watery eggs and slimy hash browns into his mouth with mild alarm. He wondered if, in time, his sense of taste would dull sufficiently for him to achieve the same feat.

“So, ummm, did something happen last night? I don’t see Hotch or his crew anywhere…”

“They’re in the yard.”

“The yard?”

“Yep.” Jenkins gulped down another forkful of dripping eggs. “Setting up the ring.”

“What ring? Jesus, stop eating like that - now you’re giving me indigestion…”

“The boxing ring.” Jenkins put his fork down and proceeded to talk while masticating his last mouthful. Reid sighed and decided to let it go, focusing on the information instead.

“Twice a year the Warden allows a prison-wide boxing competition. Any prisoner can take on any other prisoner. The eventual winner gets a bunch of extra privileges that the rest of us don’t. The only rule is that all who intend to fight gotta train for three months first - to get all fit an’ stuff. I guess that she’s worried someone’ll get dead and she’ll get sued by the ACLU or somethin’. You gonna eat that, kid?”

Jenkins pointed at Reid’s toast. Reid rolled his eyes and shoved his whole tray in the man’s direction. Jenkins smiled beatifically. 

“Can she do that?”

“Whether she can or not, she does. She’s the Warden - so long as there ain’t no riots or a lot of unexplained deaths, the Justice Department lets wardens do what they please. She probably figures that it helps manage our natural tendencies towards violence an’ mayhem, right?”

“I’m not sure _that’s_ true…”

“Well, whatever - Strauss does as she likes and very little o’ that has anything to do with any o’ us. There are men in here servin’ life for shit that that woman does while she’s on the phone with the Governor…”

Reid looked at Jenkins and saw the moment when Jenkins realized his mistake. Colour rose in his face as he cleared his throat and continued on.

“The boxing match - Hotch manages it. He sets up training schedules and organizes the fight pairings. It’s pretty much the only time that he’s not trying to ring her bell.”

“Ring her bell?”

“Hotch hates the Warden. ‘M pretty sure that the feeling’s mutual. She throws him in the hole a lot.”

“You mean solitary confinement?”

Jenkins nodded. “You ask me, it’s almost like he _enjoys_ it. I got thrown in the hole once…” Jenkins visibly shivered. “I wouldn’t do nothin’ to get sent there intentionally…”

 _Interesting._ Reid mused and then had another sudden thought. He began to look around the sea of faces until he found the one he wanted. Without a word, he got up from the table and walked towards a CO at the far end of the cafeteria. He felt dozens of eyes follow him and the room’s din dropped by several decibels. The CO straightened and pointed at Reid with his billy club.

“Go back to your breakfast, Reid.” Morgan’s face creased with irritation.

“Boss, I request permission to go to the yard.”

“You have work detail after this, Reid…”

Reid leaned in and Morgan’s club flashed in front of him faster than he could have imagined. The end pressed painfully into Reid’s chest.

“Careful, now…”

“I need to speak with Hotch. It’s a matter of urgency.” Reid lowered his voice and leaned into the billy club to emphasize his point.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed but Reid saw that the man was obliged to comply. Hotch had something on this guard and Reid wasn’t above leveraging it to help himself out. He just hoped that Morgan wouldn’t resent it and take it out on him in the future.

“Alright. But you’re making this quick, you hear me… then it is back to your work detail.”

Morgan gestured that Reid walk in front of him. Once they were outside of the cafeteria and beyond the hearing of anyone, Morgan threw Reid up against a wall and pinned him there by his upper arms.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, little man? Coming up to me in full view of everyone and asking for shit…”

Reid was struggling to regain the breath that Morgan had knocked out of him.

“Sorry… I’m sorry. I’m no one, Boss. No one… I just needed to talk to Hotch. You told me to get some protection… you’re right, I need that… that’s all I’m trying to do - honest. I-I didn’t m-mean to assume anything about y-you…”

Morgan huffed and swore under his breath. He pulled back and forcibly straightened Reid so that he was standing in front of him. Reid didn’t meet his eyes until he felt Morgan’s hand grasp his chin. When he looked up, the CO was pointing at Reid right between the eyes. His teeth gleamed in the shadows as he spoke.

“Don’t you dare do that again. You feel me?”

Reid was shaking and he hoped that it looked like confirmation to Morgan. “I w-won’t, sir… I mean, Boss.”

“Get going. You have five minutes. I’ll meet you back here and escort you to the laundry.” When Reid didn’t move immediately, Morgan barked again. “GO! I haven’t got all day, Reid!”

Reid took off at a run, was through the doorway and halfway across the empty yard before he reminded himself to erase the panicked look from his features. It was sort of a wasted effort considering that everyone in Hotch’s crew saw him running as if Death itself was at his heels. There could be no doubt as to his state of mind given this display, but Reid elected to set aside his shame and get on with the business at hand.

The crew had erected the ring dais and was busy arranging the ropes around the four corners. A small workout space had been sectioned off to the side of the ring, and a few of Hotch’s men were setting up various weight machines and other exercise contraptions that Reid couldn’t identify. Reid spotted Hotch standing in one corner of the ring overseeing the tightening of the ropes, and made a beeline for him. His progress was suddenly stopped as he ran straight into a giant wall of man. Reid sprawled backwards into the dirt of the yard as he heard men laugh around him.

“Where you going in such a hurry, fish?” The wall spoke to him, and after he blinked several times, Reid realized that the wall was _massive_. 

_Oh, God help me…_

“Thank you, Rollo.” Reid recognized Hotch’s voice. He was privately glad to hear that the man wasn’t laughing at him. “But I think that the fish wishes to speak to me. Am I right?”

“Umm, yes please.” Reid stood up and gingerly walked around Rollo, who seemed reticent to move. Reid swallowed hard and walked up to the corner where Hotch stood, leaning against a ring pole with an odd smile on his face. “I want to a-accept your offer.”

“Really?” Hotch’s face darkened and he leaned hard on the ring pole as he bent over Reid to watch his expression. “And you can live with my terms? All of them?”

Hotch’s eyes made no disguise of flicking to Reid’s arms and then back to his face. Clearly, drugs were a deal breaker to him. Reid straightened to his full height and fixed Hotch with a determined glare.

“Yes. I agree to everything we discussed.”

Hotch leapt down from the ring and came to stand beside Reid. They were almost the same height as they stared eye to eye. Hotch looked him up and down.

“You look like hell.”

Reid’s heart grew cold. “Are you rescinding your offer?”

Hotch considered him. “No. But something will have to be done about it.”

He turned away from Reid and addressed his crew. “Gentlemen, we have a new brother. From now on you will afford this man all of the courtesies that you give to each other. He is no different from any of you. Is that understood?”

Two dozen eyes fixed on Reid. No matter what they privately thought, each set of eyes nodded agreement and Reid even heard a few calls of ‘Yes, Boss’. It was extraordinary and dammit if Reid didn’t feel a tiny surge of pleasure at this sudden, unwavering acceptance. Prison was the last place that he ever thought that would happen. Hotch clapped Reid on the shoulder and seemed to ignore the gasp of pain that he wheezed as the man slammed into some of his fresher bruises.

“Okay, here’s what happens now. Tonight at dinner, you come directly to our table and sit down. Do not hesitate or ask permission first. This will show everyone where you belong. Afterwards, there should be no doubt in anyone’s mind and your unwanted visits should end. If they do not, let one of us know immediately.” Hotch leaned into Reid a little and lowered his voice. “After dinner, go to your cell and wait for me.”

Reid stifled his shiver and nodded instead. It was worth it… if it stopped the beatings and the constant undercurrent of terror, it was worth it. It was just his body after all. Worse things had happened to him…

Hotch watched his reaction closely but gave nothing away. In time, he nodded and jutted his chin towards the doorway back inside the prison.

“Best be on your way then. You have work detail now, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Reid mumbled, suddenly exhausted by the effort of making this whole deal happen. “Morgan’s waiting for me.”

“Of course.” Hotch smiled and then jumped back up onto the canvas, turning his back on Reid. “See you at dinner.”


	9. Chapter 9

Reid did as he was instructed and marched from the food line at dinner straight over to Hotch’s table. Rollo stood immediately and gave him his seat, moving to the other side of the table and sliding in next to his leader. The whole display happened so quickly that Reid couldn’t believe that _that_ was all it took to ensure his safety. He stared at his food but found that he was too nervous to eat so he concentrated on breathing instead. Each breath, he told himself, was a small victory.

“What’s the matter, fish? Not hungry?”

Reid looked up and saw Rollo staring at him with concern. _Concern…_

“Rollo, we can’t call him ‘fish’ anymore…” Hotch’s voice was patient, as if teaching a child. “He needs a proper name.”

“My name is Reid.”

Hotch turned to him for the first time and gave him the same patient smile. “Surnames are for the outside world, not here. What’s your first name?”

“Spencer.”

There was a general round of scoffs and snorts from the table.

“No, that won’t do, I’m afraid…” Hotch said.

“I hear that you’re a doctor.” Rollo leaned in as if he could see the truth of his statement if he squinted hard enough.

“I’m not a _medical_ doctor, but, yes.”

“Well, then that’s who you are. You’re ‘Doc’.” Rollo leaned back, satisfied. “We’ve never had a doctor in the crew before, have we, Boss?”

The nickname drew consensus from the table as several men saluted him with ‘Doc’ and nodded their heads. Hotch smiled and raised his water glass.

“I guess ‘Doc’ it is. Thank you, Rollo.”


	10. Chapter 10

Reid sat on the edge of his bed and waited patiently for Hotch. His stomach rolled at uneven intervals and he secretly prayed that if he was going to be sick that it would happen before the man’s arrival. He just needed to get through this. He’d struck a deal and he was going to hold up his end of it in good faith, no matter what. On the surface, Hotch didn’t seem wholly repugnant, and he had promised that he wouldn’t hurt Reid. Jenkins assured him that Hotch was a man of his word, whatever that meant within the confines of prison… He had almost convinced himself back into a forced state of calm when a large silhouette darkened his cell and he looked up to find Rollo scowling down at him, carrying something under his arm. Reid recoiled - he couldn’t help it - this wasn’t part of the deal.

“He promised…” Reid whispered before he could stop himself.

Rollo stopped dead in his tracks and frowned. Then his features changed as he had a sudden realization. The giant immediately tried to make himself look smaller and non-threatening, which would have been hilarious if Reid hadn’t already been petrified.

“Oh, hey man… I’m not here for that. Seriously… I don’t, uh, roll that way, if you know my meaning…” Rollo held out his hands and tried to crouch into a shorter, less ferocious shape.

“Why are you here?” Reid croaked. 

Rollo shoved the box he was carrying out in front of him as if it would explain everything. Reid shook his head in confusion.

“A long time ago, I was a medic in the army. Boss sent me to fix you up some.”

Rollo suddenly dropped to his knees and opened the box to reveal a fairly decent field med kit. Reid saw bandages, medical tape, needles and thread, antiseptic ointment and cleansers…

“I know that you’re the doctor an’ all… but, are you okay with this?”

Reid sighed and slouched into the thin mattress. “I told you, Rollo, I’m not a medical doctor.”

“I know, Doc.” He flashed Reid a smile. “I’m just trying to ease you up a bit. You okay if I touch your face an’ stuff?”

Reid smiled back - genuinely smiled - and nodded. Rollo quickly and thoroughly examined the general swelling on his face and inspected his cuts. He then asked about other damage and Reid slowly removed his shirt so that Rollo could inspect his back, shoulders and chest. After a while, he sat back on his heels and sucked in a breath.

“You a mess, boy. That cut over your left eye’s gonna need a few stitches and your left cheekbone’s cracked. Ain’t much I can do for that - it’ll set on it’s own. You got good teeth - that’s a blessing, trust me - and none seem loose or damaged in any way. Got some awful damned bruising along your jaw, but that’ll clear up in time. Your back’s had someone go to town on it and there might be some deep muscle bruising. That’ll take time to ease back from - you just keep using them - don’t let ‘em freeze up on you, okay? And your ribs are all intact but they’re gonna hurt like hell for a while. Oh, and in general, you could stand to eat a little more, Doc - your ribs could cut glass…”

“Thanks for the tip, Rollo. The cuisine here is so special that I’m sure to plump up in no time.” Reid gave Rollo a dirty look but Rollo just tutted it away telling him to stop pulling faces or he’d never get the stitches to lay straight.

The two men sat in silence for a long time and neither felt the need to break it. Reid settled into a near meditative state due to exhaustion and the incredible anxiety that had been running him from the moment that he arrived. Feeling relaxation creep into every inch of him, he wondered how he had maintained himself for as long as he had on his own.

“Rollo?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you know that I was a cop?”

Rollo leaned back on his heels again and looked Reid in the eye. “Yup, the Boss told me. But I’d keep that to yourself - the rest of the crew don’t know. Not all of them would take it so well.”

“What else did the Boss tell you?”

Rollo went back to his medical duties. “He said that you were innocent.”

“He did?” Reid couldn’t believe it.

“Yup. The Boss wouldn’t lie about something like that. You musta had yourself a shitty ass lawyer is all I can say…”

Reid sighed.

“Rollo, do you think that… I don’t know… that I’m _meant_ to be here, even if I’m innocent?”

Rollo sat down in front of Reid and crossed his legs. He spent a few moments in silence, considering, before he spoke up.

“Boss says that there’s nobility to be had, even for us castaways - that’s what he calls us: castaways. I’m not sure about all of that.”

He balled up his used gauze and threw it in the corner of his med kit.

“I killed my wife.”

Rollo let the confession hang in the air between them for a long moment.

“I was a mean drunk and one day I just couldn’t stand the sight of her no more. I didn’t have no excuse for my drinkin’ and I didn’t have no excuse for the killin’. I have no doubt that I got exactly what I deserve - I wasted my life and ended hers, and for no good reason at all. I’m pretty sure that’s the essence of evil. But Boss says that I’ve got more in me than that, and I’ve seen him be right about a lotta stuff. So, I go through my days in here _trying_ to find the more that he thinks he sees in me. Maybe that’s what he means by ‘nobility’.”

The large man suddenly looked up directly at Reid.

“I dunno if you deserve to be here like I deserve to be here, Doc - but you’re here nonetheless and you gotta keep going. All you can do is do what you have to, and then learn to live with it.”

Reid sighed and looked away. He just wanted to curl up and sleep for a week. He heard Rollo scrape his boots as the man rose to his feet. The med kit rattled as Rollo collected his things.

“You don’t gotta be afraid of him.” When Reid looked up again, Rollo was staring at him from the cell door. “Maybe he’s not a good man, but he’s a fair one. ‘Sides, he’s curious about you - I can tell - and it’s a short trip from curiosity to liking. For what its worth, he ain’t never asked any of us to do somethin’ that we wouldn’ave done anyway…”

“So… you and he…” Reid gestured vaguely with his hands.

“No, no, no.” Rollo shook his head and backed away as if he had intruded on something inappropriate. “I told ya I don’t roll that way. My size, my hands and the damage I can make ‘em do… that was all I had to prove to him ‘cause that’s all he needed me for. Makin’ someone yer bitch in stir is the easiest way to control ‘em. Boss knows that yer valuable but I don’t think he quite knows _how_ yet. If he knew another way to come at ya, he probably would, you understand?”

Reid shook his head; he really didn’t understand much in this situation.

“I don’t think that Boss is a natural fairy type.” Rollo sighed as if he found this conversation personally embarrassing. “I heard tell that he has a wife on the outside…”

“A wife?”

“Yeah. Like I said, the easiest way to control someone is to make ‘em yer bitch. That don’t mean that’s who you are. So… maybe… you oughta think on that when he comes for you.”

And with that Rollo ducked out of Reid’s cell and strode down the walkway, his med kit hidden under his arm. Reid sat silently until the alarm signaling lockdown sounded and the cell doors automatically slid shut and locked for the night. The usual catcalls and yells rang out across the cell tiers as the lights went out, but Reid ignored them. Instead he thought of what he’d learned about Hotch from Rollo. Discovering that he had a wife had shocked Reid. Despite what he’d heard and understood about sexual relations in a single gender prison, he’d assumed that someone who submitted to them was at least marginally inclined in that direction in the first place. Not that having a spouse excluded the possibility of homosexual impulses…

Reid shook his head. Did it really matter which way Hotch swung? Reid tried to push away the belief that Hotch wanted him on some base level. That clearly wasn’t the case - the man needed Reid for some purpose that had yet to be revealed. He had been acquired because he was deemed useful, just as everyone had told him. He was not _wanted_. Reid needed to keep his value and role in the crew firmly fixed in his mind and not let the sudden relief and joy of acceptance from earlier cloud his judgment. He shoved the stab of pain radiating from the center of his chest deep down inside him - this wasn’t a place for concepts like friendship, belonging, and safety. Seeking out those things on the outside had landed him here, and longing for them in stir would probably see him betrayed and murdered. So, he lay himself down and tried to find a position that didn’t hurt as he set about hardening his heart to his new reality. Before he closed his eyes he told himself that at least in here - with these people - he _knew_ that he was going to be used. Jenkins was right: Hotch had never lied about that.


	11. Chapter 11

One week passed. Then two. Hotch never came for Reid.

Reid’s anxiety over his unfulfilled debt slowly eased like a healing bruise. He grew sanguine about the possibility of Hotch showing up unannounced and demanding payment. If it happened, it would be what it was always intended to be: a transaction. And it wasn’t as if Reid didn’t owe him. He hadn’t been jumped, molested, or even leered at by another con since he became part of the crew. The change in his existence had been so quick and absolute that it was tempting to think that his first few weeks in stir had been nothing but a bad dream. As his injuries faded and his aches disappeared, he began to imagine that he could do more than just survive inside; the absence of unrelenting cruelty was enough to give him the thinnest sliver of hope once again. He should have tamped down on that impulse the moment he felt it, but at heart, Reid was a man driven by hope.

Spring was unpredictable and a sudden cold snap had stopped the progress of Hotch’s match training schedule. But a sunny day amidst the gloom brought cons out to Hotch’s ad hoc ring by the dozen. Reid and Rollo stood at the edge of it and watched Hotch spar with various contenders. Hotch only spent a minute or two with each con - just enough to determine their level of skill and fitness - before moving on to the next. Although Reid didn’t understand the mechanics of boxing, he found it diverting to watch the performance and calculate odds for each fighter in every possible pairing. After the first eighteen or so, he calculated that his accuracy was getting close to ninety percent.

“What’s that?” Rollo peered down at him. When Reid seemed confused, he elaborated. “You mumbled somethin’ just now. And you been twitchin’ a fair bit too.”

“Oh, ummm… it’s just… I was making odds. That last guy for example - Taves? He’s too tentative, too much of a thinker… his relative win probability is a straight third, despite his obvious fitness.”

“Well, everyone’s tentative when facin’ down the Boss.”

“I’ve allowed for that variable in performance behaviour.” Reid said without thinking and then he felt Rollo staring at him again. “It’s just something to pass the time…”

“You’ve done them all?”

“Just the ones I’ve seen. I can’t make predictions without data.”

Rollo’s eyebrows rose slowly. “All of em? Every combo?”

“Sure.” Reid nodded once as his fingers began to twitch unconsciously. “Taves is a thirty-three and a third percentage as a base, but Taves versus Ramirez would make the odds one to one, basically fifty percent.”

Rollo gave Reid a questioning look.

“Ramirez is bigger but he goes all in too fast and Taves could wait him out.” He explained. “Taves and Petersen would be a more problematic pairing - they are the same weight and skill level, but both are wary of injury, so I’d probably set them at four to one. But Oleg and Taves, that’s twenty to one. Oleg couldn’t hit the side of a barn. Of course, this is all based on a fair book. If one wanted to make a profit off of all of this, I’d have to recalculate for the overround…”

Rollo laughed out loud and slapped Reid hard on the back. Reid winced, still unfamiliar with the rough camaraderie that was the norm amongst the crew. He found it very hard to tell the difference between Rollo’s amusement and him winding up to beat a man down. It was a reminder to keep his wits about him no matter whose company he was in.

“I thought you said that you didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout boxing, Doc.”

“I don’t. But I can read people… the rest is just math.”

Rollo snorted. “Cons don’t give much away in my experience…”

“It’s not about the obvious. We can all hide things if we concentrate hard enough, but it’s about the unconscious tells. Micro facial expressions, socially-ingrained reactions, body language, vocal inflections, pupil dilation, the way a person walks, how they hold themselves… allocating a numeric value on the probability of action based on those signals is just a matter of risk assessment. That’s pretty much all I did when I was a cop, Rollo.”

“Hmmm.” Rollo stopped smiling. “Have you made an ‘assessment’ of the Boss?”

Reid looked up at the ring and watched Hotch dancing around his latest opponent. He’d been in the ring for over an hour testing out an endless line of fighters, stopping every now and then for a mouthful of water. Reid silently admitted that he couldn’t read Hotch at all - nothing more than what Hotch _wanted_ him to read, at any rate. He didn’t understand Hotch’s motivations in protecting him though he was certain that the man had some and that they were significant. He didn’t understand the man’s detachment or his apparent respect for his fellow gang members. He couldn’t reconcile Hotch’s sociopathic tendencies with his obvious ethical code. The unknowns multiplied in Reid’s head until his experience and training told him that accurate analysis was impossible based on these contradictions. The agent in him whispered that he was missing something that would unite the character of this man. Until he discovered it, he couldn’t take anything about him for granted. 

Perhaps it was purposeful - to set Reid off balance - or perhaps it was a level of deception so profound that even Hotch believed it. What was disturbing to Reid was that what little he had seen of Hotch’s personality, he found admirable. He had truly garnered the loyalty of his crew and forced them to live by a code that re-enforced an odd self-respect. He spoke plainly, he thought before he acted, and there was that aura of invincibility thing… Reid was afraid to find out that everything Hotch presented to the world was just a well-orchestrated act.

Hotch moved in the ring so that his back was to Reid and Rollo. He’d been dancing with his latest opponent for a little while, but suddenly his back tensed and he lunged forward striking out with two sharp right hooks to the fighter’s ribs. The fighter pulled up with a loud gasp, and Hotch backed away into his corner, his body once again relaxed. He waved to bring the next contender into the ring and then turned abruptly to stare at Reid. He looked aggravated, as if he could feel Reid trying to puzzle him out. But that just wasn’t possible, Reid told himself as he let his eyes drop to his feet worrying about how much space this man was occupying in his mind.

“You said that Hotch doesn’t compete…” Reid cleared his throat and tried to get back to the safer territory of his conversation with Rollo.

“Yeah but if you’ve spent time figurin’ out a mook like Taves, then guaranteed you’ve tried to figure the Boss. Right?”

 _Right,_ thought Reid, _but all I see is a cipher._

He watched Hotch dodge, dart, and strike at the new fighter. The fighter was better than most, big, and had something to prove. Reid was suddenly aware of the age difference and that Hotch had been sparring for over an hour. His shirt was sweat-soaked and clung to him like a second skin. The lines around his face were sharply etched and though he seemed to be completely focused, his expression could have easily been a mask for pain and creeping exhaustion. The pairing suddenly seemed wrong to Reid and he felt the urge to interfere on Hotch’s behalf. He tensed and thought about how to stop it when Rollo’s hand grabbed his arm and held him still.

“Wait. Watch.” 

The bigger fighter landed a few glancing blows and Reid saw Hotch wince for the first time. He tensed even further under Rollo’s grip and wondered why Hotch’s second in command was just standing by. Hotch snapped out and landed a body blow but it had little power behind it, and the larger man just smiled through his mouth guard. They danced and traded positions so that they were facing each other’s corner when Hotch’s eyes twitched for a split second. _Pain._ The larger fighter advanced forcing Hotch into his corner where his reach would be restricted and his ability to escape limited. Hotch dodged some shots and stood his ground as he breathed through a few more. Then he dropped his right hand, offering his opponent easy access to his rib cage. Without hesitation the fighter placed his weight behind a devastating right hook that Hotch skirted as he pivoted and thrust his body behind a left hook to the other fighter’s head. The larger man dropped as if shot and laid out on the canvas semi-conscious and mumbling. Hotch immediately straightened; all traces of pain and exhaustion wiped clean from him. He popped his mouth guard and directed his crew to help the downed fighter. Beside Reid, Rollo chuckled and let his arm go.

“What was that?” Reid whispered.

“Boss is a south paw.”

“A what?”

“A lefty. He fights right most o’ the time, but his real power comes from the left. Most o’ the old timers know it, but he likes ta play with the new guys…”

“It was an act? The pain… favoring his right… dropping his guard?” Reid couldn’t believe that Hotch had been _that_ convincing, both consciously and unconsciously, for over an hour.

“Did you ‘assess’ that?” Rollo preened. “I’ll let you in on a dead giveaway ‘bout the Boss: he don’t ever let his guard down. He ain’t never dropped his hands ‘less he wants to, no matter how tired he gets.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he fights to the end. He won’t give no ground, even if it kills ‘em. You won’t get near ‘em unless he wants you to. That young guy,” Rollo nodded towards the fighter being helped from the ring. “learned that the hard way.”

“Rung his bell.” Reid murmured nervously and nearly jumped as Rollo hooted in response and slapped his back again.

Hotch slipped through the ring lines and hopped to the ground without a sign of discomfort, his back ramrod straight. He walked over to Reid and Rollo, slowly unwinding his wraps as he did so.

“Rollo, would you take over for me? Get in there and scare some manners into these men if at all possible.”

“Be a pleasure, Boss.” Rollo leapt up onto the dais causing the crowd of untested fighters to take a communal step backwards. Rollo stretched languorously and stripped his shirt off despite the chill in the spring air. Hotch laughed quietly beside Reid at the sight.

“Suckers.” He muttered.

“Because they’re intimidated or because they let it show?” Reid stared hard at Hotch. Reid would’ve been scared if he were facing Rollo…

“Both.” Hotch looked back at Reid gauging his reaction. Reid turned away, trying to control the age-old anger that he felt whenever he encountered a bully.

“It’s easy to be condescending about fear when you are in a position of power.”

“You find me condescending?”

“I find that arrogance is dangerous and distracting. Fear has a purpose and you ignore it at your own peril.”

Reid felt Hotch turn to face him. “You’re right. And I don’t disdain their fear, only that they shy away from it. The true test of fear is what you do with it.”

Reid smirked and kept his eyes on Rollo in the ring. He tried not to remember the sound of a ninety pound body being thrown into a locker, or the jeers of arresting officers as they cheered each other on beating a cop killer on his way to holding. Or the hard swallow made as a dark-eyed man explained the realities of prison life.

“Have you ever been in a fight, Doc?” Hotch’s voice was quiet. Reid turned to look at him and found that strange mix of concern and confusion across his features that had been there the first time they met. “You have, haven’t you? But not like this… not for sport… You’ve only ever fought for your life.”

Reid chuckled mirthlessly. “Do I look like someone who knows how to fight?”

“You look like someone who’s learned because he had to. Who was it? Your Dad? A sibling? A teacher maybe?”

 _Interesting._ Reid made note of Hotch’s impulse to find blame with family. It was the first time that he had ever misread Reid, and that was significant.

“I was a prepubescent genius in a public high school. Everyone was gunning for me.”

“How old were you?”

“I graduated when I was twelve. Frequent beatings and a prominently accelerated intellect didn’t save me from anything.”

“I disagree.” Hotch’s voice was a whisper. “And the proof is that you’re here, and that you’re still in one piece. I respect your fear, Doc, but more importantly, I respect what you’ve done with it. Even since you’ve been here - you were the only fish to hold out. You wanted to live on your own terms.”

Reid smiled; this man was good. On the outside he might have been the leader of his own cult with such abilities to indoctrinate and seduce. He was charming, and diffident, and ruthless in equal measure. No wonder why all of the crew fell at his feet. The more that Reid saw of him, the more concerned he became.

“Until I met you. I held out until I met you.”

Perhaps some of Reid’s bitterness leaked through in that statement because Hotch’s expression briefly flashed something that looked like shame before settling back into his standard patriarchic benevolence. Given the sophisticated display that Reid had just witnessed in the boxing ring, he wasn’t prepared to give the flicker too much weight. 

His eyes flitted around the yard until they landed on a group of thin, grey cons all huddled together in the shadow of a guard tower. No one outside the group acknowledged them but Reid would have known them anywhere. They were _his_ people: addicts. He had been inside all of three days before he discovered their territory without much guidance from other cons. It was as if some blood-borne magnetism led him to the abandoned cellblock were junkies shamelessly shot up at any time of the day. He never saw any of these cons on work details and their physical appearance was impossible to disguise; he had no clue how the guards could miss it. Unless it was sanctioned somehow. He had heard rumors to that effect… Jenkins spun all sorts of paranoid stories about the drug trade inside.

Reid realized that he was staring and had to resist the urge to claw at the old track marks on his arms. He couldn’t deny that the desire to get high and drop out of his current existence had been an overriding one from his first night in stir. He had made the trip down to the old cellblock several times already and couldn’t say why he hadn’t given in. He knew that Hotch would abandon him if he scored but it didn’t seem as if the other cons bothered the addicts that much. They were useless in most ways within the twisted economy of prison life, and many didn’t survive long enough to foster any real animosities with other cons. If Reid chose to succumb, his life would be brief and hazy, but not overly painful. Whenever he thought about Hotch’s inscrutable motivations too much, this option appeared particularly appealing. He tugged at the cotton sleeves that always covered his arms without thinking and felt Hotch move closer to him as he noticed it.

The alarm signaling the beginning of afternoon work detail sounded and Reid jumped a little. Beside him Hotch breathed out slowly, as if about to say something, but then just collected his spent wraps in a tangled ball and headed back towards the main building for his work detail.

“See you at dinner, Doc.” He mumbled over his shoulder without looking back.


	12. Chapter 12

Reid sat curled up on his cot reading a battered copy of an out of date gas hydrate textbook. Geophysics was not one of his passions but given the limited selection of the prison library and his rapacious reading habits, he wasn’t being too picky. He had decided to read the entire library in alphabetical order. And he had already made it to ‘G’ - he didn’t know what he’d do once he was finished.

The time after dinner and before lockdown was the only period when he could imagine his former life with the most clarity. He had spent most of his evenings reading for as long as he could recall and that feeling of familiarity was something that he clung to desperately. If he was going to fight off despair and temptation, he was going to need something to ground him…

“Is it any good?”

Reid looked up to find Hotch looming in the cell opening. _It’s time_. The thought shivered through his body and he found himself almost relieved at the prospect. He sat up and covered his shaking hands with the textbook.

“Well, it’s no ‘Stress Fractures In Titanium’, if that’s what you’re asking…”

Reid heard Hotch chuckle quietly and watched as his silhouette moved from the doorway along the far wall of the cell, until he was directly across from Reid’s cot. He placed his hands against the stones at his back and slid to the floor, haphazardly kicking his long legs out in front of him. He watched Reid for a second and then turned his head to the small desk next to the sink and toilet at the far end of the cell. It was stacked high with books - the library didn’t place a limit on what you could check out.

“You have some long term plans that I don’t know about, Doc?” Hotch nodded towards the stack. “That’s an ambitious reading list…”

“That’s just this week’s batch.” Reid said quickly, which produced a newly interested stare from Hotch. “I read very quickly and I have an eidetic memory.”

Hotch made a noise of approval. “ _That_ must be a useful skill.”

“I guess. I don’t really see it that way… its just part of who I am.”

Hotch looked Reid over for a long time in silence. Reid was growing weary of the man’s pauses; it always made him unnecessarily anxious, and he resented how often Hotch used it as a power play. He wished that he had the guts to demand that Hotch just get on with it already.

“Is there something on your mind, Doc?” Hotch’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You seemed upset earlier… almost angry…”

“What are you waiting for?” Reid hadn’t thought about the statement before making it and was impressed by his own bravado.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. It’s been weeks already, and you have held up your end of the deal…”

Hotch smiled. “Are you that eager?”

“I’m eager to get it over with. I’m eager to even the playing field a little.”

Hotch’s smile disappeared as if it had never existed. “It won’t even things between us.”

The cell suddenly felt cold and Reid tried not to shiver as he fought to hold Hotch’s stare. _You will not intimidate me here. You either want my fear or my trust, but you can’t have both._

“You said that you wouldn’t torment me…” Reid said cautiously. “Is this even something that you want? Rollo told me that you had a wife.”

One of Hotch’s hands slowly tightened into a fist across one leg though his face revealed nothing. After a moment, he relaxed his hand just as slowly and made a great effort to look as if he was lounging against the cell wall.

“‘Had’ is the appropriate tense. I don’t have one anymore - at least I don’t think I do. When one rats you out to the cops, I consider that a divorce.”

“Your wife is why you’re here?”

Hotch nodded.

“Sorry.”

“Why? She saw an opportunity to make a better play than being a percentage partner in my schemes and she took it. She did what anyone would do.”

“Do you really believe that everyone is that self-interested?” Reid’s face creased in disbelief.

“I believe that the answer to your question lies in the manifest proof of our current situation.” Hotch gestured between them. “Your partner betrayed you and so did mine, and for no greater reasons than their own benefit.”

“That’s crap. There are such things as consideration, loyalty, obligation, affection… not everyone is out for themselves, Hotch.”

“Really?” Hotch leaned forward and smiled sadly. “Would we even be having this conversation if you didn’t owe me and were trying to make the terms easier on yourself?”

Reid blushed and looked at his shoes.

“It’s okay, Doc. I don’t blame you, and I can see that you _want_ to believe in something greater than selfishness. I admire that. But in here, you can’t afford the luxury of appealing to a person’s better nature.”

“This is _exactly_ the place where you need to believe in it the most.” Reid huffed and stabbed his finger into his thin mattress. “It’s easy to do good in the right circumstance, but it takes real tenacity to do it in the wrong one.”

Hotch’s expression went blank and he seemed momentarily lost. Reid couldn’t help but wonder if this whole scene had been an act to reel him back in. The truth was that Reid really couldn’t tell, and much of his argument was motivated by that frustration. He was caught between his profound mistrust of his protector and hopeful belief that there was something more to him. One impulse was founded in evidence that Reid couldn’t ignore, and the other… well, that was just instinct and nothing more. Hotch quickly looked away - for the first time ever - and cleared his throat.

“I’m going to answer your questions as honestly as I can, Doc.” He sighed and leaned back against the wall. “I’ve waited because I wanted to give you a chance to heal. I wanted you to get your feet under you without worrying about daily repercussions for your actions. I wanted to get a better feel for your skills and talents - perhaps your debt need not be physical.”

Reid felt his stomach drop.

“In answer to your question about my tastes: I have enjoyed the company of both men and women and couldn’t say which I prefer more. However, I can do without if I need to. At my age, I have greater concerns than my sex drive.”

Reid couldn’t help but wonder what those concerns might be.

“I promised not to torment you and I apologize that my actions have come across as such. I would offer to alleviate the situation right now…”

Reid held his breath.

“… but given the interesting conversation that I had with Rollo this afternoon, I believe that you offer significantly more value than just a sexual outlet. He told me of your odds making and I believe that we can leverage that towards a tidy income for the crew. Betting is currently the sole province of the 9th Street Rooks, but it is poorly run and has been uncontested for too long. I think that we should take it from them, and if you are as skilled as Rollo seems to think you are, I’m happy to have your mathematical skills pay off your debt instead.”

Given the bemused expression that slowly dawned across Hotch, Reid must have been staring gap-mouthed at him. He wasn’t sure, but for a split second, he thought that Hotch’s cheeks showed a hint of a flush.

“Is that acceptable to you, Doc?”

“Y-yes.”

“I thought that it might be.” There was that averted eye contact again. “Now, before we plan to go to war with the Rooks, we need to discuss your drug usage.”

“What?”

“I know that you’ve paid several visits down to The Row since you arrived, even after I explained the terms of our agreement to you…”

“Hotch, I haven’t -”

“I know you haven’t. But you are giving it far too much thought, and considering that I’m about to make you the face of the crew’s gambling monopoly, this gives me great pause.”

Reid looked at his shoes again. He hadn’t felt this ashamed of his habit since he’d admitted it to Elle years ago. Beyond the threat of Hotch revoking his protection, it shouldn’t really matter what he thought about Reid’s drug past. And yet, somehow, it was starting to _matter_. Reid internally shook his head and reminded himself that Hotch was a master manipulator. This was just an extension of his hold over Reid.

“I think that you need to understand why drugs are anathema to me.”

Reid looked up and was startled to see sympathy staring back at him.

“I’m sure that someone has told you of my animosity towards Warden Strauss by now. It goes considerably further than the standard bucking of authority.” Hotch chuckled to himself. “Drugs are endemic within the penal system. Let’s face it, when you are staring down a life sentence, any form of escape is alluring, even a chemical one. Well, you know…”

Hotch gestured towards Reid with a look of apology.

“Drug usage, even minor drug trafficking is tolerated within prisons throughout the country. Half of the country’s inmates are inside on drug charges in the first place. The difference between this prison and others is _the scale_ of trafficking and usage. And its infrastructure. Warden Strauss has two jobs: the Administration of this facility and distribution hub for several South American drug cartels.”

Hotch allowed that last statement to sink in a bit before continuing.

“Over the years, she was so effective at cutting off supply lines for the cartels into the prison, that they switched tactics and decided to employ her to do it instead.”

“But, how…” Reid mumbled.

“Money. No one’s immune to money - not if the sum is big enough. They bought her loyalty and she used those skills that had once all but stopped the flow of drugs in her prison to organize and funnel drugs _out_ of the prison and to the streets via the various gangs. Her authority gives her absolute control over the gang leaders as well as shipments into and out of this facility. Strauss has a head for details and she is a stickler for paperwork - she treats the whole thing like a business. She permits The Row to exist because that’s her form of quality control; new product always gets to the addicts before it is funneled to the gangs. She allows an unmolested drug culture within the prison because it promotes the business and it keeps the population quiet and easily managed.”

Hotch was numbering points on his right hand.

“So long as nothing unusual comes to light and paperwork is done in a timely fashion, the Justice Department doesn’t interfere with the day-to-day management of any facility. With over one hundred federal prisons in the continental United States, who has the time to look into each one?”

“So, ummm… well, _wow_.” Reid stammered. He had come across similar cases during his time in White Collar Crime at the Bureau, but never on such a grand scale as Hotch was suggesting here. He found it difficult to process that not a single federal agency had sniffed it out before now. He was definitely missing something. “Can you prove any of this?”

Hotch smiled ruefully. “Always a cop, I see… Proof doesn’t have much value to cons, but everyone knows what going on. It doesn’t make a lot of sense that the Warden would foment the rumor just for kicks. And then there’s the abnormally high delivery traffic into this facility every month: dozens of food supplier trucks and laundry vehicles… we have an in-facility laundry service so why are there eighteen laundry truck deliveries each month?”

“Okay, okay.” Reid held up his hands. “Maybe there’s something going on here but, to be brutally pragmatic for a moment, _why_ do you care, Hotch?”

The energy that had vivified Hotch suddenly drained from his face. It was as if he was right in the middle of telling his favorite story and discovered that he had forgotten the ending. He slid behind a blank unreadable mask again.

“People get sent here all the time for the sorts of felonies that she commits before breakfast each day. But she walks free. No one’s even _looking_ in her direction.” He leaned forward. “How does it feel to know that you will die in here for something you didn’t do, Doc, but Strauss gets to go home each night while pumping millions of dollars-worth of narcotics into the world each year?”

“We aren’t talking about me, Hotch.” Reid warned.

Hotch leaned back and shrugged. “Maybe I believe what you believe, Doc: maybe it takes real tenacity to do good in here. Maybe I want _that_ to be my legacy… so that my time here has a purpose.”

Reid arched an eyebrow.

“She has to be stopped, Doc.” 

Hotch sounded like he believed it, as if nothing else was more important to him. He sounded like some of the better cops that Reid had worked with over the years. It was impressive how convincing he could be when he tried. Until Reid knew any better, he decided to join Hotch’s paranoid quest.

“Okay, I get it. I’ll stay away from The Row.”

“I would like you to do that for your own benefit, but if you’re doing it because of my argument, I’ll take that.” Hotch’s scowl deepened. “For now.”

So long as he did what was in the best interests of the crew, Reid couldn’t understand why Hotch would be concerned about any deeper motivation. Reid didn’t see the profit for Hotch in caring…

“Now, as to the gaming proposition and the Rooks…” Hotch tented one knee and rested a hand on it as he paused. “I have an idea, but given the speed with which we must act and the opposition that will almost surely present itself, it is… a little… cruel.” 

Reid swallowed hard; it probably did not go unnoticed. “What do you mean: cruel?”

The five-minute warning alarm for lockdown sounded and Hotch shrugged and slowly got to his feet, absurdly brushing and straightening his orange jumpsuit as if it was an Armani.

“We’ll discuss it at breakfast - you, me, and Rollo. It will require you to act a part, Doc - to be more than you are. You should think about that before we meet. You are new to us and we have not seen your limits yet…”

Hotch headed for the cell door without finishing his thought. The abruptness seemed unlike him.

“Why this sudden act of faith, Hotch?” Reid spoke up quickly. “Why take such a risk? As you say: you don’t know my limits…”

“It isn’t faith, Doc.” Hotch’s face was in shadow as he stood outside the cell door looking back. “It’s a test. And if you fail, I’ll have the measure of you. There won’t be any hesitation on my part then.”

Hotch walked away quickly, as silently as he had arrived. Reid sagged back into his mattress and waited for the lights to go out. He suddenly felt as if he had been maneuvered into a far more dangerous situation than before - that Hotch had deftly leveraged his fear against him by playing off a false hope. Reid was overwhelmed by regret that he hadn’t just let Hotch fuck him instead of setting him up for whatever new peril he was about to face; he had a feeling that the fucking would’ve been less invasive.


	13. Chapter 13

The plan was risky and almost all of that risk lay solely across Reid’s shoulders. If he failed, the loss of face to Hotch would be substantial, and Reid would finally be justified in living his life behind bars. Hotch told him not to worry about the violence: he claimed that he had that contingency covered but refused to elaborate on it. That wasn’t comforting at all.

Reid walked across the yard with his senses in a deep freeze and only distantly aware that Rollo was at his side. He wore his most practiced mask of indifference, standing straight and tall - he could be quite tall when he wanted to be. His right hand tried to avoid touching the smooth shiv that he held up his cotton sleeve. The scene was so familiar that he almost felt like he was in a movie; he wasn’t Reid, he was Paul Newman or Clint Eastwood or Charles Bronson…

“You can do this, Doc.” Rollo murmured at his side.

 _I don’t really have a choice_ , he thought as he approached 9th Street territory in the yard. The Rooks took notice of their approach one by one, slowly adjusting their jumpsuits that they wore half open and tied at the waist to show off their gang tattoos. They hung around a picnic table that wasn’t far from the free weights in the exercise section of the yard. Every one of them was built for fighting but Reid had never seen any of them get into it with another con. Like so many things in prison, the peacocking was enough. These men worked out day after day, year after year, and all so that _the idea_ of challenging them would never cross another’s mind. It seemed like a wasted effort to Reid, but he was hoping to use it to his advantage today. One member didn’t shift or change his attitude in any way. Reid planted his feet and raised his chin. 

“Rizza.”

The Rooks shuffled around him eyeing Reid like a promised meal. Rizza didn’t move - he just sat on the bench and rolled a toothpick between gold-capped teeth.

“You in the wrong place, ass-crack.” He said eventually.

“I don’t think so.”

Rizza made eye contact for the first time and loudly sucked his teeth at Reid. “What makes you think you got the juice to come at me like this, boy? You ain’t sucking _my_ dick, ya know…”

There was a chorus of yells and laughter from Rizza’s crew. Some leered at him with undisguised contempt and others with avarice as obvious as if they were drooling. Rizza himself merely smirked and flicked his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

“If your faggot ‘massa’ gots something to say he shoulda used Jenkins. You crossin’ the yard to come to me? That’s what they call ‘provocative’.”

Reid raised his hands slowly in surrender. “I believe that I’ve given you the wrong impression, Rizza.”

“What impression is that?”

“That I’m here to have a conversation. I’m not. This is more of a… news bulletin, if you will.” Reid took a deep breath, feeling the warm surety of Rollo a step behind him and to his left. “As of now, the 9th Street Rooks no longer make book anywhere in this prison. Gaming, betting, odds-making all belong to me now, and by extension, Hotch. Infringement on our territory in this matter will be dealt with in the usual way.”

Some of the Rooks laughed nervously while others prepared for Rizza’s orders. Rizza himself stared right through Reid, his fingers discoloring where they pitched his toothpick too tightly. 

“You must be one sweet piece o’ ass, boy.” Rizza growled and finally stood. “Stupid cracker musta been fuckin’ you day an’ night fer you to lose yer mind enough ta come over here wit dat.”

Rizza took a few steps forward and grinned a mouthful of metal at him. Reid used everything he had to stand his ground. Beside him Rollo remained as solid as a mountain.

“If Hotch was serious, he be here hisself. Mebbe he got sense enough ta know that I gonna kill you for this. You ain’t got no juice, kid - you ain’t nothing but a rape toy.”

Reid jerked his thumb towards Rollo. “Here are my credentials. I think sending me across the yard with Hotch’s ‘second’ tells you how committed he is to this endeavor.” 

Reid took a few steps forward so that he was within arms reach of Rizza and his closest protectors. No one was afraid of him yet, but they were wary of his moves - everything about him said that he shouldn’t be acting as he was. He had a few more seconds to pull this off before his advantage was lost forever. He positioned himself in the correct spot - the one that he always took as he played this game in his head over and over again. _Check._

“Will you yield the gaming rackets, or will you force my hand?” He whispered.

Rizza snorted in, hawked loudly, and spat a milky gob that sprayed across Reid’s shoes. Reid looked down and then up at Rizza, slowly.

“Here is my ‘juice’…”

Reid pivoted away from Rizza, the hidden shiv dropping into his hand. He lunged at Rollo, grabbing him by the back of the neck as he vaulted himself higher and sliced the shiv across his throat. He was precise - _missed the carotid, missed the jugular…_ \- but still the flow of blood was tremendous and frightening. Rollo clamped his throat with his hands and dropped to the ground. Most of Rizza’s men were too shocked to react. They had been prepared to protect their Boss but had no idea what to do about an attack on an outsider. 

Reid stumbled away from Rollo and then pivoted again and ran at Rizza, whose gold-filled mouth had dropped wide open. Reid reached him and grabbed him by the jumpsuit, quickly smearing Rollo’s blood across him and forcing the shiv into Rizza’s grip. Rizza focused on Reid’s face in horror as his hands reflexively dropped the shiv and grabbed Reid’s jumpsuit instead.

“Motherfuckin’ cracker!” He growled but it was drowned out by the riot alarm. Cons dropped to the ground all over the yard knowing that if they didn’t they’d be cut down by the sharpshooters in the guard towers.

“I just cut Hotch’s ‘second’ down and have framed you for it. Do I have your attention _now_ , Rizza?” Reid hissed as they continued wrestling. In the background, he could hear the yell of guards approaching. “ _That’s_ how serious Hotch is about this, and _that’s_ just a taste of how far I’ll go to get it. If you go to war over this, I’ll cut you all down like summer wheat. I won’t stop until you are _done_.”

Rizza’s eyes seared with unexpected fear. The look sent a flood of black arousal through Reid that he had never experienced before. No one had ever feared him and he was shocked to discover that the sensation felt almost as good as lust. His body fought the feeling and bile suddenly splashed the back of his throat. He had to act quickly or risk losing the moment.

“Down! Get Down!” It was Morgan. “On your stomachs! Lace your fingers behind your heads!”

Morgan was still a few seconds away. Reid fumbled against Rizza in an effort to look like they were cooperating.

“Play this right, Rizza, and you can still have a slice. We’ll use the Rooks as runners.” Reid whispered as they flattened themselves into the dirt. “Five percent. No risk to you and a powerful ally for future endeavors… think about it. War or business? You have until tomorrow to decide.”

The guards arrived and Reid felt a knee jab into his lower back as his hands were cuffed. He didn’t look up but he knew that the same thing was happening to Rizza.

“Get that man to the infirmary!” Morgan bellowed. It was his knee in Reid’s back. “What happened here?”

“Nothing, Boss.” Reid and Rizza said in unison to the dirt.

Morgan yanked Reid upright and kicked him forward. Rizza was headed in the same direction as the rest of the population still lay face down in the yard. They were probably going to be interrogated. It was okay: Reid was far too experienced at that to be tricked by prison guards. His cuffed hands yanked back sharply so that he almost lost his balance and fell into Morgan behind him. The guard’s breath breezed his neck as he spoke.

“You disappoint me, Reid. It turns out that you’re no less of an animal than the rest. I hope whatever Hotch promised you was worth flushing your ethics for.”


	14. Chapter 14

Reid was segregated for eighteen hours - without questioning - and then released without explanation. He assumed that that was what Hotch had meant by ‘taking care of the repercussions’. Whatever hold he had over Morgan must have been substantial; Reid hadn’t expected to get away with attempted murder without so much as a hand slap.

He went straight to Hotch’s cell and waited. Most of the cons were now giving him a wider berth than usual and he tasted that blackness in his mouth again, just savoring the edges of him like salt. He worried about how easy it had been and how it made him feel. He worried about how skillfully Hotch had organized it all, and about what Morgan had said afterwards. Hotch had told him that it had to be this way: if Reid was going to be the face of bookmaking in stir, _he_ had to commit the act and establish his authority. And it didn’t hurt that the whole situation magnified Hotch’s reputation by showing that his men would go as far as need be, and with only a word from their leader. It was a win-win for Hotch, which was his customary position in any power struggle. Reid had once wondered how far he’d go to survive on the inside and now he knew that he would go _this far_ at least. But how much further?

“Doc.”

Reid looked up and saw two silhouettes in the doorway. The bigger one walked forward and gave him a lopsided smile to match the lopsided bandage around his neck.

“Rollo.” Reid breathed with relief. “How is - ”

“Nothin’ to worry on, Doc.” His voice was hoarse. “You done it just right - just like we agreed to. No permanent damage.”

“And word just came from Rizza through Jenkins.” Hotch stepped forward into the cell behind Rollo. “He has accepted our proposal. And his five percent cut.”

Hotch raised his eyebrows at the last statement. Reid had improvised that part.

“Better a lazy five percent and a face-saving gesture than an all-out battle with no potential profits in the end. Besides, a loose, even resentful alliance strengthens the crew’s position and re-enforces what I…” Reid had to clear his throat as his voice cut out on him. “… what I did in the yard.”

“Risk assessment.” Rollo smiled and nodded as he held a hand to his bandage.

Reid looked at Rollo and his eyes flicked to his neck. He stood and walked towards him, his mouth filling up with apologies. He shot his eyes to his feet suddenly as a rush of tears threatened them. Pondering his shoelaces he rocked back and forth, trying to make himself small and recognizable and _right_ once again.

“Rollo, I…” He choked. 

“You listen to me, Doc.”

Reid nodded without looking up from his feet.

“This feelin’ you got for folks… it’s a good thing, a righteous thing… but it ain’t got no place in here, you understand?”

Reid shrugged noncommittally and when it was met with prolonged silence, he finally looked up at Rollo.

“I know it burned you to hurt me, Doc. And damn if that don’t make me happy to know that you like me that much.” Rollo smiled briefly. “But that kinda sensitivity can cut you open here - get you strung up like meat for wild dogs. You gotta pack it away, boy. Don’t ever show it to nobody, you hear?”

Reid looked to Hotch and was surprised when the man’s eyes fell away from his immediately. An eerie sensation overtook him then, as if he were a smooth stone dropped into a cool stream. He didn’t like the idea of things flowing over, around, and past him without leaving a mark. He still wanted to matter in some small way and he didn’t know how to get that without showing people that they mattered in turn. He thought that Hotch might understand but there he was, letting him drop from his fingers to the water below…

“It’s okay that we know, Doc. The Boss an’ I… we won’t hold it against you. Will we, Boss?” Hotch shook his head once, no. “See? But you gotta keep it from every one else.”

“Okay.” Reid murmured to his feet once again.

“Promise me, Doc.”

“I promise.”

Reid felt Rollo’s impossible grip around his shoulders as it gave him a bone-cracking squeeze that he supposed was meant to be comforting.

“‘Member what I told you about doin’ what you have to in here, and then learnin’ to live with it?”

Reid looked up at the giant and nodded. He watched as the man’s eyes hardened from understanding to something more jaded.

“Now you know what I meant.” 

Reid shook once as black electricity jolted his frame. Did learning to live with it mean learning to like it as well? He rubbed his temple absently as Rollo released him and pushed him towards the cell door.

“Go on now. Get some rest - that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Reid walked out of the cell and down the block on autopilot. It wasn’t until he got back to his own cell that he realized he’d barely spoken to Hotch at all. Rollo had taken charge as if Hotch had been absent or incapable somehow. He hadn’t even congratulated him on surviving the test. It was strange. Reid’s mind puzzled out the implications as the alarm sounded and the cells locked down for the evening.

….

Hotch and Rollo waited in silence for a full minute after Reid left them.

“He’s too soft.” Rollo sighed with regret.

Hotch leaned against the bars of his cell and looked down the block in the direction that Reid had taken.

“No, he’s not.” His tone was sad and distant. “He’s had a taste now - that’s all it’ll take. In time he won’t remember that it once bothered him so much.”

“Well, it bothers me, Boss.” Rollo lurched out through the cell door and blocked Hotch’s view. The giant bent until he was eye level with his leader. “And I think it’s botherin’ you too.”

Rollo didn’t wait for a response. He just turned and headed for his own bunk leaving his Boss to the brooding for which he was known.


	15. Chapter 15

Reid’s head pounded from where he had struck the tiles. In his rush to escape, he ran past the mirrors without checking his reflection but he imagined that he might be bleeding. Head wounds bled like crazy, even minor ones. The corridors around the showers were strangely empty and so he ran, partly because solitude was dangerous and partly out of sheer terror. The walls blurred as he moved but all he saw was the rusty shower drain pressed to his face. He felt the kicks to his healing ribs and then heard the rustle of clothing as he strained for air… and the rotten smell of tooth decay as someone whispered something in his ear.

He ran until he got to the chow line. No one looked up or commented on his labored breathing. The cons on k.p. slapping out grey food with disinterest looked at him and then let their eyes slip away without reaction. Maybe he didn’t look so bad after all. Maybe the crew wouldn’t notice. He wasn’t sure why he was terrified that they would see - wasn’t this exactly why he had been forced to choose an affiliation in the first place? The past few weeks had filled him with guarded hope, but now he knew that he was just as vulnerable as he had always been. Maybe nothing could change that - nothing and no one could make him feel safe ever again.

He kept his face low, his eyes averted as he sat with the crew. Most of them were talking or halfway through their breakfasts and didn’t give him more than a cursory nod hello. He put the food tray on the table and then clasped his shaking hands together in his lap and out of sight. There was an instant when he thought that he might pull it off and then a drop of blood fell into his watery eggs.

“Doc?” It was Rollo, and when Reid didn’t respond Hotch called out his name instead.

He didn’t look up although there was no avoiding the conversation now. He heard Rollo hiss and figured that his injuries were noticeable from a distance. Under the table, he felt a long leg press against his, insisting on his response. He finally looked up and watched Hotch’s face pale a little and then slip behind his stony mask that he wore so often.

“Who did this?”

The table was silent now, all eyes on Hotch. He sat perfectly still, his hands pressed flat on either side of his food tray. Reid looked at him and shook his head. Something flickered in Hotch’s glare - something not meant for Reid but he caught it anyway. Reid felt Hotch’s leg press into his again and with greater force. _The question stands._

“He wore a mask.”

“A mask?” It was Rollo. Hotch just stared meaningfully.

“Yeah. He jumped me in the shower and he was wearing a mask.” Murmurs of incredulity sounded around the table but Reid couldn’t drag his eyes from Hotch. “He said to tell you that ‘anything can be taken’.”

“Rizza.” Rollo huffed and several others around the table agreed.

“Maybe.” Hotch said very slowly. “But there’s something else, isn’t there Doc?”

“He was wearing a mask… but his arms were uncovered.” Reid shuddered a little. “He was white. And he had tattoos - a lot of them.”

“I see.” Hotch whispered. He flattened out his entire palms into the table and wherever they made contact they turned a frightening shade of white. “Rollo, you and Diesel go find Jenkins right now. Tell him to get word to Rizza that I would speak with him after we’re finished here. I’ll be waiting in the showers. Tell him to show up with his new friend.”

Rollo nodded and then he and Diesel quickly slipped away into the cafeteria. Without a word the rest of the crew looked away from Hotch and scanned the room around them instead. Hotch inclined his head a little and Reid got up to switch seats without thinking. He slipped into Rollo’s spot on the bench next to Hotch, eyes fixed on his white-knuckled hands. After a moment, a weathered hand covered his, warming them.

“Look up. Never let them see your fear.” Hotch whispered. Reid did as he was told.

“Was it… Golem?”

Reid nodded.

“Did he…?”

Reid looked directly at Hotch and stopped his question cold. His lips thinned and he willed his shaking to stop.

“I didn’t give him a chance.”

“How’s that?”

“I got in close and gave him a few rabbit punches to the kidneys. It must have shocked him - he rolled off and I got away.”

A smile flirted with the edges of Hotch’s mouth and he looked away quickly. “Good. It’s good to see that you’ve been paying attention.” 

Reid’s hand received a strong squeeze and was then released. 

“This violation will be answered. You will come with me and see for yourself that it will never happen again.”

Reid was about to object but Hotch rose up from the bench and strode away before he could manage it.


	16. Chapter 16

Reid stood behind Hotch in the abandoned showers and waited. He didn’t know what to expect and, given the sudden darkness that had come over Hotch since the cafeteria, he didn’t feel brave enough to ask. He simply stood in silence and tried to project the cold-blooded confidence that he showed in the yard when he had attacked Rollo. He knew that he had a role to play now and that Hotch would be disappointed if he cowered in Rizza’s presence. As if summoned by the thought, Rizza loped into the room and jutted his chin towards Hotch. Hotch ignored him and waited. The sounds of cursing and scuffling soon followed as Diesel and Rollo appeared carrying Golem between them. Together they heaved Golem and sent him sprawling across the tile floor so that he was halfway between Rizza and Hotch. He bounded to his feet with a string of invective and curled his fists. Rollo raised one hand slowly.

“Save it. You ain’t got no friends here to back you up. Ya feel me? Be a smart fucker fer once in yer miserable life.”

Golem breathed out through his nose and looked around. Apparently, he decided to take Rollo’s advice.

“Thank you, Rollo.” Hotch said quietly. “You and Diesel should keep a look out. I’ll let you know if I require your help.”

Rollo straightened and gave Hotch a strange look as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d been told. Diesel turned to leave like a good soldier, but Rollo stood his ground.

“Leave us.” Hotch whispered again.

Rollo looked away and then directly at Reid. Something flickered in his eyes for a moment - something that Reid thought looked like pity - and then he rolled his shoulders and left. The look left Reid cold and terrified in an entirely new way. He suddenly realized that he was in danger from _every person_ in the room…

“What you want?” Rizza sucked his teeth with impatience.

“You attacked a member of my crew.” Hotch gestured to Reid without looking at him. Then he calmly pointed to Golem. “And you used this man to do it.”

“Nah. You be trippin’, homes.” Rizza gave Hotch a metal grin. “Wouldn’t lower myself to be dealin’ wit this Nazi motherfucker… ‘Sides, we’s business partners now, ain’t we? Don’t make no sense to mess wit yer bitch.”

Rizza leered at Reid, the mirth draining from his smile and replaced by something more lethal. “No matter how uppity da cunt is.”

“Don’t bother fronting with me, Rizza. It was a statement of fact, not a question. We both know that five percent of the rackets isn’t enough to mollify you. I was expecting some form of retaliation… but what puzzles me is why contract the work out?”

Hotch turned his stare on Golem and the man took a half step backwards. The tattoos on his arms rippled as his muscles tensed. Rizza’s smile disappeared.

“I expected negotiation for a higher percentage, Rizza. I expected your men to give us lip or maybe shave a little off the top for themselves. But this? Something so brazen and stupid… well, you’ve never struck me as stupid, Rizza, despite your dental work.”

“Whatever, man.” Rizza griped.

Hotch turned suddenly and stalked over to Rizza getting right in his face. His body was loose but tension thrummed through it at intervals that Reid could see from a distance.

“Don’t condescend to me, you fucking punk. I treat you with respect despite our animosity, I give you a slice of something that you were too weak to keep for yourself, I pay you the extreme compliment of allowing you to _explain yourself_ instead of just tearing you into unrecognizable meaty chunks…” Hotch paused and leaned into Rizza until their noses almost touched. “Don’t you suck your teeth at me like I’m your mewling bitch of a mother - show me some god damned respect. I have surely earned it.”

“Okay, man, okay. Chill. I hired da Nazi fuck, okay? What do you want?”

“It’s not about what I _want_ , it’s about what I’m _owed_.” Hotch growled.

Rizza looked away and Golem tensed all over.

“Wait… you useless darky fuck! You can’t serve me up… I ain’t yours… I just did what you paid me ta do!”

“Shut tha fuck up!” Rizza yelled. “You ain’t smart enough to see down da road to this - that ain’t my problem, cracker. You know da rules. He’s gotta get payback… unless you can stop it.”

Golem yelled again but Hotch had already turned and pounced on him faster than Reid could have imagined. Golem took two wet sounding, hard blows to the face before he got his hands up to defend himself. Hotch was forty pounds lighter and fifteen years older than Golem but he attacked with a frenzy that had the younger man on his heels immediately. Hotch grunted as he delivered blow after blow giving Golem no room to recover or retreat. The younger man let loose a wild haymaker that snapped Hotch’s head to one side, but Hotch didn’t even flinch and instead pounded the man’s ribs as if to shatter every bone that held him upright. Golem hissed and suddenly jogged backward, giving him room to set up a brutal right hook. Hotch saw it coming, closed the space between them and met the crushing blow with his elbow, splitting and fracturing all of the knuckles in Golem’s right hand with a sickly crack. Golem howled and retracted but not before he hooked his left into Hotch’s kidneys causing the older man to hiss and hitch away.

Golem took advantage of the moment, curled his useless right hand to his chest, and socked Hotch in the stomach with his left. Hotch grunted and stumbled but then lurched forward catching Golem around the waist and driving them backward until they hit the sink counter. Golem took the blow in the kidneys and groaned loudly as both he and Hotch crumpled to the floor. The younger man tried to grapple Hotch with his legs and managed to hit him twice in the face before Hotch flipped them both so that he straddled the tattooed fighter beneath him. Golem was punching wildly now with both fists, his breath coming out in wet groans that sounded more like fear than pain. A lucky punch landed hard across Hotch’s jaw and he reeled for a moment before he came back to himself. He stared down at Golem with a murderous look and then he grabbed the man by his ears and smashed his head into the floor twice. As Golem lay stunned beneath him, Hotch collected up his right arm, placed a palm against the man’s elbow and another at the wrist, and almost leisurely pushed the joint ninety degrees in the wrong direction. Golem bellowed as his eyes went wide with pain.

“Hotch!” Reid didn’t realize that he had yelled until he caught Rizza looking at him from the corner of his eye. The gang leader’s look seemed to question if Reid wanted to go on living.

Hotch didn’t react at all. He dropped an elbow on Golem’s chest, making a cracking noise as one of the man’s collarbones snapped, and then followed that up with a few punches to the torso in an effort to silence the moaning. He sat back on Golem’s chest and took in his work for a moment. The tattooed fighter was more red than any other colour now, and he was whimpering softly, air forcing bloody bubbles from his mouth. Hotch panted and then leaned forward and down towards Golem’s ear, his blood dripping into Golem’s and disappearing into the puddle that was forming around them.

“Do you still have a taste for him?” Hotch hissed. “Do you still want a piece of what’s mine?”

Reid started to shake all over. It was the way that Hotch said it - like Reid was a cut of meat - it was beyond disturbing. All of his previous assumptions about Hotch evaporated in the sight of the bloody mess that he had made of Golem. And to be Hotch’s property, to be beyond the relief of sovereign rights and respect as Hotch had often pointed out, Reid realized that there was nothing stopping this man from taking _him_ apart just as he had his victimizer.

Golem made one last attempt to fight back, but Hotch sat up quickly and watched with detachment. Then, with almost surgical precision, he began to beat Golem about the face. His nose was the first thing to be obliterated with an impressive crack and a gush of blood. Reid looked away and over at Rizza who seemed mesmerized by the horrific display. He was on edge, but wouldn’t move to stop it. Reid looked back just in time to see Hotch’s left slam into Golem’s mouth and then watched as Golem’s spat out a few of his teeth. Hotch wound up again.

“Hotch!”

Smash.

“HOTCH!”

Smash. Golem’s arms were no longer moving to protect him.

“ _HOTCH!_ ” Reid moved before he could think about it and crashed into the bloody floor with his knees and caught Hotch’s fist before it hit its mark. “Stop! He’s done, Hotch!”

Hotch reached out with his free hand and grabbed Reid by the throat. He looked at him but there was no recognition in his eyes, just dark, undefined pools of black that swallowed up the room. Reid gurgled under his grip and clawed at his hand. Something flashed in the depths of those black holes and Hotch blinked and then threw Reid backward sprawling across the tile floor.

Hotch took a deep breath and then slowly rose to his feet. Through the haze of shock and coughing, Reid saw Hotch waver a little and then clamp his arm to his right side as he stepped over Golem and walked back to Rizza.

“Now.” Hotch’s tone was businesslike even through his bloody mouth. “We have one more matter between us. Who put you up to this, Rizza?”

Rizza looked away, his mouth grim and his eyes haunted.

“You’d only go outside your gang for muscle if you were hedging your bets. This wasn’t your plan… you wouldn’t risk your men on this. Was it _her_?”

Rizza looked straight at Hotch then.

“Hmmm.” Hotch nodded. “I thought so. How did she convince you?”

“She don’t like the moves you been makin’. Said that if I messed wit yer bitch, it’d send you a message - anything can get took. Mebbe you don’t get the message but yer bitch sure did. He won’t be makin’ moves fer you no more… not after this.” 

“You don’t think so?” Hotch’s voice got dangerously low.

“Nah. Look at him. He don’t got yer resolve. Man, he just tried to save that useless Nazi fuck’s life, didn’t he? I ain’t got no doubts ‘bout you, Hotch - you a scary motherfucker. Truth. But _this one_? He ain’t schooled. You don’t got no power over him. Why we gots ta pay him any mind?”

“Because he’s mine. When he speaks, I am talking through him.”

Rizza raised an eyebrow at Hotch and then slowly crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. Reid watched Hotch’s back as his shoulders hunched slightly and his bloody fists curled and then slowly flexed out again. He turned on his heel, arm still clamped to one side, and walked to where Reid was sprawled on the floor.

“On your knees. Now.” Hotch’s gaze was dead, the scowl on his face deeper than Reid had ever seen before.

“W-what?” Reid coughed.

“You heard me.”

Hotch unbuttoned his bloody jumpsuit casually. His face twitched a little as he shrugged out of the sleeves, his arm quickly clamping back to his side once it was free of clothing. He didn’t look at Reid. Reid was visibly shaking now; he had no idea what to expect. He was desperate for a sign from Hotch: a brief look or a twitch of his body, something that might constitute a fleeting moment of reassurance. But it was as if he knelt at the feet of a complete stranger, one with no compunction or feeling - just a brutal blackness that needed to be obeyed or sated. Reid’s paralyzing terror was momentarily distracted by the messy collection of old scars across Hotch’s abdomen that appeared as he pushed his jumpsuit down his torso. The scars were ragged and horrific. Reid was no medical doctor but he estimated that they were very old - Hotch would’ve received them as a child…

“Open your mouth.”

Reid looked away from Hotch’s torso and up to his eyes again. He heard Hotch’s suit slide down his body and knew what was being commanded of him. He searched Hotch’s face a moment longer, hoping for a glimmer of… _something_ , but Hotch’s stare was unreadable. Suddenly his eyebrows pulled down and he leaned forward in a sneer.

“Do it. And I’d better come fast and hard or you’ll end up next to Golem over there.”

Reid’s body tensed all over like a set trap. He thought about the moment before his body smashed into the row of lockers, the instant before the laughing detective’s fist plowed into his stomach. He remembered those moments with absolute clarity, how the anticipation of pain was sharp and bright, and so much worse than the moments that followed. He swallowed past the burn in his throat where Hotch had squeezed the air from him minutes before, and reached out blindly taking Hotch into his mouth without another thought. _This is nothing that you haven’t done before… nothing that you weren’t expecting to do until a few weeks ago…_

It had been years since he’d done this. Not since grad school. He remembered an awful party and a faculty advisor that he’d had a crush on. There was an awkward, drunken moment in the cloakroom of the mathematics department and he realized too late that it wouldn’t turn out as he wanted. He just had to get through it and put it behind him. He remembered the advisor’s drunken slurring, the way he yanked Reid’s hair, and the frustration of trying to get him off when the man was only half hard. At least Hotch didn’t have that disability - if Reid focused, he could get this done in under a minute.

He closed his eyes and sucked hard and deep. With every second or third stroke, his tongue flicked over the tip as he switched from one side to the other, and he felt Hotch vibrate with each pass. He made the sucking as loud as possible - aural stimulation had a considerable impact on arousal - and, really, he just didn’t want to hear anything from the other men in the room. If he could erect some form of detachment in this situation, he was going to do it. Reid tasted salt in his mouth and he let his mind go blank as he leaned forward until he felt Hotch at the back of his throat. Hotch’s hips thrust, almost causing him to gag, and he heard a groan that couldn’t be drowned out by anything.

“C’mon, man. I don’t need to see this shit.” Rizza mumbled warily. “Don’t prove nothin’ anyway. He’s your bitch.”

Suddenly Hotch ripped himself from Reid’s mouth and clamped a hand down on Reid’s shoulder as he pushed him forward.

“Fine.” He said calmly. “Doc, go do him.”

Reid’s eyes snapped to Hotch’s as he recoiled. He wasn’t a good enough actor to play out this role. _No!_ Hotch’s fingers dug into Reid’s shoulder blade until he cried out in pain. There was nothing in his expression, and that absolute absence of feeling was the worst thing that Reid could imagine. Suddenly, Hotch’s contradictions fell into place. The detachment, the convincing prolonged displays without any apparent effort, the mixed emotional messages that seemed out of place… Hotch was a psychopath, but one skilled enough to convince someone that he was something else entirely. It was Reid’s worst fear: everything that Hotch presented to the world was false. The hope that he had given Reid, the sense of brotherhood and purpose burned away in an instant under that indifferent stare.

_You promised… you fucking promised me…_

Reid felt his composure crumble, he couldn’t stop it. He tried to battle the rising tide of panic as his stomach churned and his breathing ran shallow in his chest. He was going to throw up, or pass out. Or both. He felt Hotch’s fingers in his shoulder again and he looked up on instinct. Hotch’s gaze flickered once and again, the edges of his eyes softening into something that might have been desperation. At least Reid would’ve read it as such and _believed it_ ten minutes before. Hotch squeezed his shoulder once more, and, again, the desperation lined his face before he turned to look at Rizza.

“Do what you’re told, Doc.”

Reid rose to his feet half under his own power and half under Hotch’s grip. He stepped forward, feeling Hotch’s hand fall away, but that’s all he felt. He walked blindly in Rizza’s direction - he didn’t see anything, didn’t feel anything. He’d fall to his knees, get on with business, and as soon as he was alone, he was heading for The Row. He didn’t want to feel any of this anymore.

“Fuck you, man. I ain’t into this faggoty shit.” Rizza sounded disgusted and backed away from Reid. “You’ve made yer point, man - yer a tough queen and yer house is in order. My bad, okay? Now, can I go?”

“Yes.” Hotch replied coolly. “But if I hear you even entertaining an idea from Strauss again, I’ll end you. Is that understood?”

“Hmmm.” Rizza sucked his teeth again.

“Take that meat with you.”

“What, the cracker? Fuck dat.”

“Take. Him. With. You.”

Reid heard a sigh and then a moment later the wet shuffling of someone dragging something cumbersome. He waited until the sound disappeared and then let his legs give out on him. He hit the tile floor hard and sucked in a gasp through clenched teeth. A moment later he heard rushed steps behind him and a hand land lightly on his shoulder.

“Doc!”

Reid twitched and scuttled across the tiles until he felt a wall slam into his back. He breathed hard and fast, and after a few moments his vision started to clear around him. Hotch was on his knees six feet away from him, his jumpsuit done back up to his waist. The worst part was the look in his eyes: a mix of desperate panic and fear. Reid closed his eyes for a second - God, the man was good at this…

“Doc,” He said again cautiously. “I’m sorry. I had to - ”

Reid heard the rustle of clothing and his eyes shot open to see Hotch moving towards him.

“Whatever touches me next, you lose.” He hissed and Hotch froze in mid step.

“I wouldn’t have let him have you. Any more than I could let Golem get away with touching you. You have to believe that.”

“Yeah? And _why_ must I believe it?” Reid sneered. “When was I supposed to clue into this realization? When you had your hands around my throat? When you shoved your cock in my mouth? Or maybe when you tried to sell my ass over to Rizza as a display of power…”

Hotch’s body sagged as if someone had cut his strings. His face fell and the lines that were always there suddenly made him look years older than he was. He raised a bloodied hand to his face and pushed his palm against one eye until he remembered his own ruined features and yanked it away with a groan. He bit his lip to stop the noise and his tongue flicked out at the taste of his own blood. He looked shocked and then slowly turned his hands over to take in the full damage. He let them fall to his thighs and rest there. He breathed deeply for a few minutes and then spoke to the bloody tiles beneath him.

“You really thought that I was going to kill Golem, didn’t you?”

Reid nodded slowly even though Hotch wasn’t looking at him. Hotch chuckled sadly to himself.

“I guess that I’m better at this than I thought.”

He painfully rose to his feet, grunting and clamping his arm to his ribs again. Once he was standing, the colour drained from his face and Reid thought that he might actually pass out. But after a moment he lurched for the exit without looking back.

“I’m sorry, Reid.” His voice cracked and then he was gone.

Reid sat for an instant without thinking, and then Rollo rushed into the shower room. He bent low and placed a gentle hand on Reid’s shoulder.

“What the hell happened in here? Boss looks like he been put through a meat grinder. You okay, Doc?”

“Nothing that won’t heal.” He wasn’t certain of that at all.

“C’mon then. Let’s get you outta here. Boss won’t let me touch him, but I can clean you up some.”

Rollo helped him to his feet but Reid refused to lean on him. He would walk out under his own power. He was determined to erase any perception of weakness in other people’s minds. It was a hard lesson to learn but he thought that he had finally grasped it: no weakness, no fear, no sentimentality. And he’d prove it to Hotch too.

“You should go to him - don’t take no for an answer, Rollo.”

“Nah. I seen him like this before. Ain’t no one can help him when he’s down on himself like that.”

Down on himself? Did they all buy into his act so blindly? Was he the only one who saw Hotch for what he really was? Reid liked Rollo but found himself a little disgusted with the man at that exact moment. To hitch himself so completely to a brutal, self-motivated creature… Reid’s mind spun back over the events in the shower room - he had no control over it, and his perfect recall made it just as horrible as the first time. He shuddered at various moments and then stopped short in the middle of a corridor that led back to the main cellblock.

“What is it?” Rollo asked.

Hotch’s apology. It was the first time that he had used Reid’s real name.


	17. Chapter 17

Reid took his seat at dinner and looked around. Hotch wasn’t there. Rollo caught his eye and shrugged.

“He’s in solitary. Thirty days. Gonna take Golem twice as long to get back on solid food again.”

The crew smirked and nodded their approval. No one was going to shed any tears over an animal like that.

“He said to keep on as we were. Said that I need to get you trained up too.”

“Trained up?”

“Boxin’, boy.” Rollo rolled his eyes at Reid’s obtuseness. “Boss said you need ta learn ‘cause he ain’t gonna be around forever. Said that he owes you that at the very least… whatever that means.”

Reid sat and watched the rest of the crew talk and finish their meal as if everything was as it should be. He felt that he alone saw the world as it really was and that sensation made him feel more isolated than his first night in stir. He had prepared himself for a confrontation with Hotch, however it would manifest itself, and found that he was strangely bereft now that it wouldn’t come to pass. On one hand, he felt confident that he had Hotch’s number, but on the other he felt lost and destabilized in the absence of the man’s quiet authority. He shook his head - _that_ Hotch, the one that he had come to admire was a lie. You couldn’t miss something that had never really been there in the first place. 

Reid stabbed at his food. Screw it. He’d train and he’d wait and he’d deal with Hotch in a month’s time. He was going to get out from under one way or another - he would no longer give this man his fear. Despite what he did to Golem, Reid didn’t believe that Hotch would raise a hand to him again. He couldn’t say why. But even if he did, Reid could always escape him.

Reid swallowed down a mouthful without tasting it and scratched at his arms through his sleeves.

 

**END OF PART 1**


	18. Chapter 18

“Move yer feet, Doc.”

Rollo advanced against Reid with the practice pads nullifying his reach and reducing his jabs to mere pokes. Reid stumbled backwards, not on purpose but because he had no other choice, and he huffed as sweat stung his eyes.

“Move yer goddamned feet, boy! A movin’ target is harder ta hit. All the practice in tha world don’t mean shit if you just stand there and wait for ‘em ta come at you!”

Rollo shoved Reid hard with the practice pads and Reid’s feet got tangled as he fell to the ring’s canvas. The crash rang through him - he was still too much bone and not enough substance despite the definition of muscle that he was showing from the last three weeks of practice. Rage flowed through him suddenly, raw and unbalanced, as he popped back up immediately and charged at Rollo. The big fighter saw it coming and dropped the practice pads to his sides indicating that the session was paused for further instruction. He closed the space between them, shucking off one pad and clasping Reid around the back of his neck to focus his attention.

“Anger’s got its place in fightin’, Doc, but it’s a tool. Make sure that it don’t run you unless you like the taste of yer own blood, got it? You know what ta do with yer hands - now, let’s get yer feet workin’ too, ‘kay?”

Reid nodded, rage seeping away as quickly as it had sprung up. A blush of disappointment coloured his face as he fought - and continually failed - to marshal his limbs in _coordination_. It was the reason why he’d always avoiding sports, not because it didn’t interest him but because his giant brain seemed to fail him whenever it attempted full-body synchronization. 

“Reid!”

He looked and saw Gerard scowling at him from the edge of the practice area of the yard.

“Get down here now!”

Reid dropped his gloves and grabbed his shirt from where it hung off the ring ropes, shrugging into it as he leapt to the ground and presented himself to the guard.

“Yes, Boss.”

“Warden wants to see you.”

“Can I-” Reid lifted his wrapped hands. He was also drenched from nearly an hour of practice with Rollo.

“No.” Gerard cut him off with a shove. “I ain’t got time to waste on you. Move it!”

Gerard directed Reid through a maze of hallways in the Administration part of the prison that he hadn’t seen before. Eventually, the cinderblock and steel design aesthetic gave way to polished wood and linoleum that spoke to the building’s true age. Gerard reached out and halted Reid in front of an old wooden door with frosted glass. His fingers dug into Reid’s elbow in punishment as he yanked him closer.

“You do exactly what you’re told or I’ll take you down to the showers and beat you ‘til a better idea comes to me. Understand? I don’t give a shit _who_ likes you or for _what_ reason…”

Reid found the threat odd but didn’t have time to really consider it as Gerard knocked on the door once before opening it and shoving Reid through. The room was much larger than he had expected and was lit by a huge window that looked out over the prison yard. The room’s wood paneling glowed from decades of polishing and every piece of furniture sat in a position that seemed almost mathematically determined for its correctness. He imagined that the Warden’s desk and visitor chairs and file cabinets and decorative elements had been in the same locations through several generations of leadership; indicating how much Strauss and her predecessors valued order among the lawlessness. A blonde, middle-aged woman in a slate business suit stood behind the massive oak desk staring out the window at the inmates below. Gerard cleared his throat but said nothing as he stood two steps behind Reid. Warden Strauss continued staring for another minute and turned at a moment of her choosing with a polite smile. It was a pretty typical display of power, Reid thought, and she seemed very comfortable exercising it.

“Doctor Reid, thank you for coming.” Strauss looked genuinely pleased and took her seat behind the desk. She did not invite him to sit. Reid wondered how badly he smelled. “I thought it was time for us to meet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How have you settled in here?”

Her tone was conversational but he wasn’t sure that he was supposed to respond. He wanted to say _you know exactly how I’ve settled in_ , but decided that he didn’t want to get beaten in the showers later on for being too honest.

“Fine, ma’am, thank you.”

“I see that you’ve been working out…” She nodded towards his boxing wraps. “A sensible activity, all things considered. Tell me, was boxing Hotch’s idea?”

Reid stiffened noticeably. Despite his animosity towards Hotch, he felt protective of him in this company. When Strauss lifted an eyebrow at his lack of response, he nodded. Strauss leaned back into her chair with a sigh and tented her fingers.

“I know that he’s taken you under his wing but I would hesitate to place any faith in him if I were you. He’s in here with good reason and it isn’t noble. He’s a malcontent and an anarchist, and will do whatever he can by using whoever he can to further his own fruitless grievances. It is part of my duty to deal with his sort of nonsense, but it becomes burdensome when I see him infect others - those who deserve better - with his paranoia.”

She looked up at Reid meaningfully.

“It’s tough for a cop in prison - I know. I’ve seen this place destroy others like you, Doctor. But you have survived, so far, and I am impressed. You peaked my curiosity so I looked up your Bureau record and discovered that I had good reason to be impressed: you were quite the agent, even considering the lack of glamour associated with White Collar Crime.”

“I did what I was trained to do, ma’am.”

“Don’t be modest, Doctor. We both know that you are a remarkable individual and that many of your skills have nothing to do with FBI training standards.” Strauss held his eyes for a moment before continuing. “I’m surprised that the Bureau gave you up without a fight when Agent Greenaway was murdered. They’ve done more to protect lesser assets than you…”

Reid worked very hard at maintaining a neutral expression and keeping his hands lax at his sides. The sting of abandonment never got any easier, no matter how much he tried to condition himself to it. During the moments when he couldn’t avoid thinking about it, his undiluted hatred tainted every memory he had and he loathed everyone: Elle, the Bureau, his lawyer, his colleagues, everyone who had ever pushed him away… Hotch…

“This lapse seems all the more glaring in light of the slapdash case that was mounted against you. It seems very clear to me that you did not stab your partner to death, and I’ve only known you for five minutes.”

Reid remained silent. He felt that any other reaction would be dangerous. Strauss looked at him squarely, without an iota of readable intent on her face.

“It’s a little outside my purview as a prison warden, but have you considered an appeal, Doctor Reid? I’m not a lawyer but it appears that you have grounds for one…”

“No, ma’am.” He said tightly.

“Why not?”

“Appeals cost time, money, and resources, none of which I have. I am alone.” Reid sighed heavily to sell it a bit. “Besides… nothing will bring Elle back.”

Strauss stared at him for a long time in silence. After she made whatever indiscernible calculations for herself, she tapped her desk blotter with her fingertips and leaned towards him.

“I think that we can help each other, Doctor.”

“Oh?”

“Prison is no place for an innocent man, nor is it suitable for someone with your intellectual attributes.”

“I get by.”

“By subjecting yourself to the paranoid whims of a megalomaniac? By using your three doctorates to process laundry every day while waiting to be inevitably attacked by another inmate over something as trivial as sex or cigarettes?” Strauss shook her head sadly. “I’ve been in Corrections a long time, Doctor. We’re doing nothing here other than warehousing the unsuitable until they die or become less threatening to the rest of society. It’s a war of attrition and our primary weapon is atrophy. Is that all you want out of the rest of your life - to ‘get by’ in a system like that?”

Reid thought about his mother. Shortly before she died she’d made him promise to always stretch his boundaries, no matter how he chose to do that. She was concerned about him falling back on the laurels garnered him because he was considered a genius, but he knew that that would never become a problem for him. Being a genius was more of a burden than a blessing - he’d always thought so. In the end, he’d given his word to Diana Reid because he felt that he owed it to her. He had to live two lives: one for himself and one for a woman whose own remarkable intellect was caged by mental illness. He was glad that she’d died before the charges, trial, and imprisonment had come to pass; it would have killed her to think of his mind rotting away in prison for life… All of this must have been plain on his face as Strauss continued without his answer.

“I thought not. I would like you to work here with me, Doctor. Running a federal prison is akin to running a large business that sells an unpopular product, except that my shareholders are the U.S. government and they do not accept profit losses. I need someone who’s smart and capable to streamline this system for me.”

“It sounds as if you need a good accountant, not me.”

“I have those, but they have such a limited view. I need someone who can think inventively and who has an understanding of the problems that an institution like this faces.”

Reid made a curious face.

“As a former White Collar Crime investigator, you know the pitfalls that large enterprises can fall into. You understand how they went from successful businesses to criminal entities, and you know how the authorities caught up with them as a result. You can help me avoid those perils.”

Reid couldn’t tell if Strauss was asking him to help her avoid prosecution or not. The request was too soft-edged to decide either way. _Maybe Hotch was right about her and this is the way that you could prove it._ He bit down on the thought inside his head; he shouldn’t be concerned about what Hotch wanted anymore. The man had his own survival strategy and it didn’t favor anyone but him. Reid should develop a similar mindset.

“I’m offering you a chance to use your mind. Forget about the laundry - work here with me to make this place more than it is. In the short term, your efforts will improve the lives of every man in here. In the long term… well, I think that I can offer a quid pro quo that will help you even more.”

“And that would be?”

“I could take a second look into the details of your conviction, Doctor. I can’t make any promises but I believe that someone as extraordinary as you shouldn’t languish here. I have greater access than you ever would and I will try to help you if I can. If you improve my situation, I’ll improve yours - it’s as simple as that. What do you say?” 

The offer was too innocent, too good to be true. Reid could almost buy that Strauss respected his abilities and wanted to make his life more comfortable in return for his services. But he found it difficult to swallow that a federal warden would help a convict overturn his conviction, even if there was manifest proof of his innocence, which there wasn’t in his case. It was an offer that was designed for his ready agreement straight down to the appeal of improving the lives of every inmate with his efforts. He was wary but Strauss had done nothing to suggest that he would do anything illegal for her. And her offer had made him curious. He wanted to see the guts of her organization for himself, to determine if Hotch was delusional once and for all. He knew that Hotch shouldn’t factor into his decision, but couldn’t seem to block out the fact that he did. _Always a cop…_

He nodded cautiously. “I accept your offer, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Excellent.” Strauss beamed and came around from her side of the desk to stand in front of him. “I think that we could be very good for one another. I do have one thing to ask of you right away…”

“Yes?”

“Steer clear of Hotch. He is a thorn in my side and I will deal with that, but it is best if you do not give him further ammunition for his paranoia. I realize that you have made a deal with him for protection in here, but that deal is meaningless in light of our new partnership. No one will touch you, and if someone tries, tell me. I’ll take care of it. I want you to consider me your ally, Doctor. You are no longer alone.”

Strauss held out her hand. Reid looked down at his filthy, sweat-soaked wraps and shrugged.

“Don’t worry,” Strauss chuckled. “I’m not the type of woman who’s afraid of getting her hands a little dirty.”


	19. Chapter 19

So, Reid began to spend his mornings in the Warden’s office sorting through invoices, payments, institution records, past federal audits and investigations, staff histories, delivery manifests, inventory lists, accounting ledgers dating back to the mid-80s… basically, everything associated with the running of the prison. Strauss held nothing from him and acquiesced to every information request that he made. He found nothing out of the ordinary, although he did spot several areas where efficiency could be improved. While he was relieved that his new position had revealed only an above-board, well managed institution, a part of him was silently disappointed that Hotch’s quest against Strauss appeared to be nothing more than psychotic paranoia. He couldn’t help it - he had wanted to believe Hotch, despite everything. He, too, wanted to have some meaning to ascribe the endless, colourless days that would spell out his life in stir. He had wanted all of it to be _real_.

In the afternoons, he trained with Rollo and oversaw the gaming rackets that he had won from Rizza. Organizing ‘the book’ required more of him than he had anticipated: there were endless wagering opportunities - not just the obvious pro sports and special events from the outside world - and he constantly had to keep an eye on the runners. His own people were relatively honest, but Rizza’s people started skimming from day one. It was something that Reid had expected, but didn’t realize that he’d have to manage it from day to day. Reid and Rollo made it their business to get backgrounds on each of the Rooks’ runners from Jenkins so that they had a better handle on how to rein them in. At first, Reid had depended on the implied threat of Rollo to keep his people in line, but soon realized that he had a talent for verbal intimidation that proved far more effective. After one soft-spoken meeting with a delinquent runner, Rollo turned to him and smiled ruefully.

“You don’t need me for this stuff no more. You scare da shit outta these boys just by openin’ yer mouth to ‘em. You know that? I thought that last one was gonna piss himself…”

“Come on, Rollo…”

“I’m serious, Doc. They all saw you cut me open, and now they see you comin’ with me in tow an’ my big-ass scar, an’ all you do is _talk quietly to ‘em_? Shit, they’re all waitin’ for you to flip out again an’ slice someone down. That, and the rumors goin’ ‘round about what happened with you, Hotch, and Golem in the showers…” Rollo clapped Reid on the shoulder like a proud parent. “You don’t need me. You got yer own rep now. Even the Boss is gonna be surprised when he sees it.”

Reid covered his shiver of revulsion. Sure, he enjoyed the way people moved out of his path, and he secretly thrilled at the way he could make some of these thugs feel fear based on nothing more than some skilled playacting. But there was something about the way that Hotch lost it that day in the showers that haunted Reid. He recognized that it was a cornerstone to Hotch’s power, but its lack of humanity frightened Reid. And what frightened him even more was that he didn’t think that hollowness was so alien - he felt it, gestating inside him, waiting for the right moment. And he knew that he had invited it in when he’d set out to understand Hotch, to emulate his sense of entitlement and freedom.

The prison boxing competition was fast approaching despite Hotch’s lengthy absence in solitary. Rollo had stepped up and was putting the fighters through their training as Reid observed and constructed, edited, and reformulated fight combinations in his head. Sometimes he and Rollo would sketch out fighter match-ups for the competition, trading notes from both a physical and statistical perspective, but knew that the final pairings would inevitably be decided by Hotch upon his return. 

Reid enjoyed his time with Rollo and felt comfortable around the amiable strongman in a way that he would’ve considered impossible only a few months earlier. The disparity between their intellects, education, and physicality didn’t seem to bother either of them, and Reid was rapidly coming to consider him a close friend. In light of his last interaction with Hotch, Rollo might have constituted Reid’s _only_ friend in stir. Still, Reid kept his work with Strauss to himself, not certain how Hotch’s ‘second’ would take the news. It felt wrong to keep it from Rollo, but Reid recognized that a man couldn’t have two masters, and while Reid had already made his choice to drift from Hotch, he knew that Rollo never would. And he couldn’t face losing his friend by revealing his new allegiance. 

Reid wasn’t sure if Rollo or the other gang members knew about his new job; none of them were on laundry duty, so it wouldn’t be obvious to them. But one person noticed the change and called him on it.

“Haven’t seen you in the laundry lately.”

Reid turned in the chow line to find Jenkins smiling behind him. He didn’t miss much about his former job but he found that he did miss the information broker’s irreverent company.

“Just needed to get myself a new crowd of peers.” Reid smirked. “You know, ones who knew what a cell phone was.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure if I was younger I’d give a rat’s ass about that dig…” Jenkins nodded to a k.p. attendant and received an extra helping of whatever grey goo they were serving as the lunch side dish. Reid tried not to gag. “How’s workin’ for ‘the man’ treating ya?”

“Technically, she’s a woman.” Reid didn’t insult Jenkins by trying to deny his new position.

“That ain’t what I heard, but I suppose it doesn’t matter if you ain’t fucking her.” He looked at Reid critically for a moment. “You ain’t, right?”

“Jesus, Jenkins…”

“Just checkin’.” Jenkins seemed relieved, which was almost laughable. “Hotch’ll be back soon. You gonna tell him ‘bout this?”

Reid was silent and felt his body harden all over at the prospect. “It isn’t his business.”

“The hell it ain’t. Listen, I heard what he did… in the showers with Golem and Rizza. I’m one of the few that heard it _all_. I know what yer feelin’-”

“No you don’t.” Reid bit back.

Jenkins gave him a worn look. “You’d be surprised. I ain’t gonna defend what he did, Reid, but I think that yer acting a little simple if you think that gettin’ into bed with Strauss is any better. She’ll turn on you if it’s convenient for her - Hotch’ll protect you no matter what. He’s pretty much been doin’ that already.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He ain’t never had you, has he? Otherwise, why would the shower thing’ve burned you so bad? He ain’t never had you and he’s got all of his guys lookin’ out for you. What have you done in return, Reid? I mean, don’t get me wrong - I think that yer an interesting guy an’ all - but other than makin’ book for him, what have you given him in return? You know how things work in here now. Do the math. If you can figure out the ‘why’ behind the loyalty he has for you then yer a smarter man than me…”

Reid just stared at Jenkins, too angry and confused to mount much of a counter argument.

“You and he are the same, Doc. You and Strauss ain’t, and _that’s_ why she’ll fuck you over in the end. Just watch yer ass, kid - that’s all I’m sayin’.”

Jenkins gave Reid a hard slap on the shoulder, stuffed a piece of limp celery into his mouth, and headed off to find a seat in the cafeteria. Reid watched him go and wondered if the man’s mind had been made as bland as his palette, or whether he was the smartest man in there.


	20. Chapter 20

“I wanted to thank you, Doctor.”

Reid looked up from the intricate algorithm that he was sketching out to streamline perishables wastage. His secret hope was that if he could get food costs under control and minimize spoilage, that he’d then be able to influence the Warden towards other vendors with fresher offerings. Basically, he just wanted food that he could stomach now and again.

“Ma’am?” He was confused.

“You’ve done an excellent job tightening our little ship.” Strauss smiled and sank into the couch opposite the small desk that she had given to him in her office. “I didn’t expect half so much as what you’ve done… I had no idea that we could improve in so many areas - I am grateful.”

“I suppose that it is just a matter of a different perspective, ma’am.”

“No doubt.” She nodded as she straightened the line of her skirt. “I also wanted to let you know that I haven’t forgotten my promise to you. I’ve done some digging into your conviction…”

Reid put down his pencil and went very still.

“I assume that you suspected Ms. Greenaway’s lover in her murder, did you not?”

“Yes, but the authorities didn’t, and my attorney claimed to not have the resources available to him to investigate that angle. In a crime of such obvious passion and volatility, one naturally looks towards individuals who were close to the victim. A.D. Sanchez was arguably closer to Elle than anyone.”

Strauss gave him a sad smile. “That would go a long way to explaining why the Bureau cut their losses with you so quickly: they’d have more invested in protecting an Assistant Director of the FBI than a promising junior agent.”

Reid ducked his eyes to his paperwork. He’d always come in second place; he just never seemed to matter _enough_ to anyone…

“Anyway,” Strauss continued. “I’ve done some digging into Sanchez’s history - both on and off the record - and it is checkered, to put it mildly. There was an aggravated assault charge from college that conveniently disappeared when he applied to the Bureau, and there are some grey areas in his personnel file, mostly with regards to female agents, that would make anyone a little curious.”

Strauss stared at Reid in silence for a minute, and then rose to her feet walking towards the window to peer down over her charges.

“It’s a place to start. I’ll keep looking… just wanted you to know what I’d come across thus far.”

“Thank you, ma’am - I appreciate that.” And he did.

“We’re a team now, Doctor Reid.” Strauss smiled again. “That means that we have to look out for one another.”


	21. Chapter 21

“That’s it, Doc, you got it!”

Reid pivoted around Rollo so that the giant’s back faced the ring ropes, and then he attacked with a powerful right-left jab combo followed by a brutal uppercut. Rollo expertly blocked all of the hits with the practice pads but his eyebrows lifted in surprise at the power behind them.

“Great combo. Keep it coming… think about how ta move me into a bad position…”

Reid focused on rapid body blows that forced Rollo to curl into himself and bow against the ropes. He smiled into his mouth guard until a practice pad cuffed him upside the head.

“Gettin’ cocky, kid? Yer feet have stopped movin’… where’s yer brain at right now?”

_Move your feet, Reid. Always keep moving…_

He started bouncing on the balls of his feet again and then had to duck a practice pad quickly. He knew that Rollo was trying to work him into a corner, so he ducked in the opposite direction and countered with more body blows that moved Rollo back into his own corner instead.

“Nice.” Rollo huffed as he battered down a few more combination hits. “There’s that big damned brain of yours…”

Reid lined up a strong cross body shot and put all of his power behind it. Rollo stopped it cold, trapping Reid’s hands between two practice pads, and Reid winced as the sudden halt sent shocks back up his own arm. He looked up at Rollo and saw that the man was looking over his shoulder with a grin on his face.

“Boss!”

Reid’s chest seized as he turned and saw Hotch holding onto one of the ring ropes, leaning casually. He smiled at Rollo and nodded, then his eyes flicked over Reid. Hotch looked thinner than Reid remembered and there were dark smudges under his eyes that he couldn’t recall seeing before. His eyes, too, seemed different - as if he were a little startled by what was in front of him. Reid stood his ground, daring Hotch to blink first. He wasn’t the same skinny geek that Hotch had left behind six weeks earlier…

“It seems you have been busy.” He was speaking to Rollo but his eyes never left Reid.

“Been makin’ progress with brainiac here. He’s just ‘bad’ now, not… umm, what’s the word I’m lookin’ for?”

“Appalling?” Hotch offered, though his stare suggested the antonym.

“Yeah.” Rollo grinned and slapped Reid on the back. “Appalling.”

“I’m standing right here, you know.” Reid grumbled and shrugged off his gloves.

“It’s good to have ya back, Boss. Thought ya might miss the tournament…”

“I was a bad boy in solitary. It bought me a few more weeks.”

Reid felt Hotch follow him as he untied his wraps and then shrugged back into his t-shirt. He claimed his equipment and headed for the side of the ring, ducking through the ropes and jumping to the yard without looking up. He saw movement from the corner of his eye and knew that Hotch had edged closer to him.

“All kidding aside, Doc, you looked good up there. Your form is solid, you’ve got the basics… you just need to-”

“To move my feet more.” Reid finished quickly and fired back a glare that said he wasn’t up for a friendly critique. “Yeah, Rollo tells me that every day, right before he hits me in the head with something.”

“That’s probably not the best way to motivate a genius…”

Reid watched as Hotch’s face melted into a broad smile. The sudden surge of joy that it produced in him was quickly followed by a cold splash of self-loathing. _Never forget what he did._

“Well, I’m sure you’d do it better.” Reid gave him a grim smile in return. “You’re pretty good at maneuvering people, even if it’s into a position that they never imagined for themselves.”

Hotch’s smile faded. The lines of his familiar scowl took its place and he appeared to dim a little, although his stance remained straight and confident. Rollo sidled over, unfazed by their interaction, and began chatting about the details of the tournament. Reid took advantage of the moment and headed back towards the prison alone, not bothering to check if Hotch’s eyes followed him. He kicked at the dirt of the yard viciously as he went. Now that Hotch was back, he could spend less time dealing with the gang and more time on his own plans, he told himself. _That_ was the only reason for the anticipation that he had felt a moment ago…


	22. Chapter 22

He awoke suddenly in the darkness of his cell, his body hot and tight all over and with the tendrils of his dream fading from him. He couldn’t recall the details but he recognized _the feeling_. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had this dream before. It was different this time though: his body was more restless, the urge was almost irresistible. He somehow knew that the details were stronger this time - more present - because he’d seen Hotch that afternoon.

Reid rolled to his side and tried to will his body into calmness, but energy was thrumming through him now, demanding to be put to use. It felt powerful and angry, with a kind of insistency that couldn’t be reasoned against.

_I don’t want this._

_Part of you does._

_Just leave me alone. Just let me be angry._

_You want to be left alone? You know what to do…_

Reid sighed; squeezing his eyes shut, and then weaved his hand into his pants. The image he required came to him without effort, the silhouette growing luminous against the darkness of his eyelids. The dark, critical eyes moved over him silently until they saw his hand moving in his pants. Then the scowl curled into the smallest of smiles, and his dick twitched in response. His body’s energy focused in the center of him and then moved lower with the intensity of electricity that has discovered a new conductive pathway. It coiled in his groin, behind his balls, snaking in and around his pelvis as if looking for a new home. His hand moved faster, squeezing and flicking over the head of his cock as his imagination made the silhouette gasp at the sight of him. The image moved forward with interest, lips parted. His breath stuttered out of him in uneven bursts as he worked himself as hard as he dared. Part of him just wanted it to be over and another part of him couldn’t bear the thought of containing himself. He was so hard this time that his skin was starting to ache from the pressure, his hand making it worse with his frantic rushing. The image leaned back in his mind, those dark eyes looking up and meeting his in a way that could block out everything else. He saw the wrinkles at their edges twitch up as they had when he smiled in the yard that afternoon, and then his lips moved.

“Doc…”

Just the quiet timbre of his name from those lips made him come in erratic, hot bursts across his belly and mattress. He moaned loudly as his whole body worshipped the feeling, his pelvis working out the thrusts to the bitter end. He breathed heavily in the dark, tears pricking at his still-closed eyelids. He rolled onto his back and tried to pretend that he was someone else, some _where_ else…

“God, I hate you, you liar…” Reid wasn’t sure if he was talking to Hotch or himself.


	23. Chapter 23

When Reid arrived at Strauss’s office, he found her leaning against the window frame behind her desk lost in thought. The summer sunlight flooded the room making her navy suit cooler against the wood paneling and highlighting blonde streaks in her hair. He went to his desk where he expected to find his daily assignment laid out for him as it always was, but his blotter was empty. He looked up, realizing that she hadn’t acknowledged him yet, and cleared his throat to catch her attention.

“Good morning, Doctor.” She said without looking away from the window.

“Ma’am. Is everything alright?”

“My morning has become slightly more complicated that I would like.” She sighed and then turned to look at him. “We’re going to be audited.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Your books are up to date and all of your documentation is organized. It is my understanding that audits of federal agencies are a matter of course, are they not?”

“Yes, they are, though we had one three years ago so I thought that we’d get a pass for another couple of years…”

“Ma’am, are you concerned about this?” Reid was confused by her affect. “Because I assure you that you shouldn’t be.”

Strauss looked at him sadly and smiled. “You are genuinely sweet, Doctor - that’s so rare. But I’m afraid that there _is_ cause for concern.”

“I don’t understand.”

Strauss walked around to the front of her desk and leaned against its edge slowly. Then she tilted her head and fixed him with a knowing glance.

“This institution has undeclared income. A lot of it. If we come under any kind of scrutiny, it will be impossible to hide it.”

Reid’s mouth went dry. He forced himself to exude as much quiet confidence as he did when intimidating runners.

“What is the source of this undeclared income?”

“Does it really matter, Doctor? It’s undeclared for a reason. If the source were legitimate, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in hushed tones.”

“Okay.” Reid swallowed and then took a step into the grey area of his moral makeup. “How much is ‘a lot’ exactly?”

Strauss stared at him for a full minute and then arched her eyebrow as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Almost a quarter of a billion dollars per annum.”

_Oh Jesus… JesusfuckingChrist, Hotch was right all along…_

Reid slowly pulled his chair out and sat down, resting his elbows on his thighs and letting his wrists dangle. He dropped his eyes to his shoes and breathed slowly as he formed the next question inside him.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You know why.” She answered simply. “Take solace in the fact that if this audit hadn’t popped up, we wouldn’t have discussed this. Ever.”

He smirked at his feet. _Likely story._ She’d had her eye on him since he arrived with this exact eventuality in mind. She was far too much of a planner, far too calculating to have been caught by surprise by this, or to have needed him solely as an efficiency expert. Any CPA could’ve done what he did with the legitimate income; she needed his Bureau insight to navigate the loopholes in white collar law. She needed him to help her commit money laundering on a massive scale.

“What will you do to me if I refuse to help?”

He heard her sigh. “You’re asking the wrong questions.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Is this really all that different than the bookmaking scams that you run for your crew? Yes, I know about that… they aren’t exactly legal either.”

“There _is_ a difference.” Reid felt himself treading on dangerous ground as he glared at Strauss - a woman who had complete control over his existence. “Most notably: scale. But also, product and the motivation behind the criminal endeavor. Mine is survival… what’s yours?”

“Believe it or not, it is survival as well. Though, as you noted, the scale is quite different.”

Reid snorted and went back to staring at his shoes. A long period of silence passed between them when all he could hear was the sound of the antique clock on Strauss’s desk ticking the minutes away.

“Victor Smitrovich.” She said eventually.

“What?”

“He’s the reason why you’re going to help me.” She walked towards him and then crouched down so that they were eye level to each other. “My investigation into Agent Greenaway’s murder has led me to a convict named Victor Smitrovich. He’s currently locked up in Lee Penitentiary and he has a desire to be elsewhere. He claims to know details about ‘that dead FBI broad last year’.”

Strauss made air quotes with her fingers as her mouth quirked in distaste at Smitrovich.

“He won’t tell much more without some sort of deal on the table, but he said that _he knows_ you didn’t do it because he arranged for the cops to show up when they did.”

Reid’s hands started to shake so he clasped them together tightly until his fingers started to tingle.

“He’s a bottom feeder, but a preliminary look at his dates suggest that he was free during the murder, and his record and known associates conform to that of a typical ‘problem solver’. In addition he knew about a crime scene detail that was kept out of all the reports and court filings.”

“Do you think…” Reid croaked.

“Does it matter? All you need is a plausible alternate theory of the crime.” Strauss reached out for his hands and squeezed them. “Do this for me, Doctor, and I’ll get Smitrovich deposed and his statement sent to the District Attorney himself.

Reid’s eyes narrowed. “You’d let me go, even with the knowledge that I’d have to have in order to pull this off…”

“We’re not there yet, Doctor. All I’m promising is getting Smitrovich’s story to the right ears. But… I feel confident that you’ll keep my secrets, yes.” Strauss squeezed his hands again. “We’re partners - I have your back and you have mine.”

Reid’s head dropped and hung between his hunched shoulders. He didn’t know if he could live with such a truly awful bargain. Though Strauss had never said ‘drugs’, it was hard to imagine that her income could come from anything else. He would be betraying his principles, his professional oath… he’d even be directly betraying Hotch if he agreed. But beyond all of that, he’d be facilitating the victimization of people _just like him_ : addicts. All so that he could escape this place, to be free, to live again… He felt sick and lightheaded and evil and -

“I’ll do it.” He said hatefully.

“Thank you.” Strauss whispered with genuine gratitude. “What do you need?”

“Give me everything. Only when I know where all of the bodies are buried can I make them disappear.” 

He ripped his hands away from hers and quickly swiped at his face. He shoved his idealism and morality under the surface of the black lust that Hotch had unleashed in him until their shouting grew too dim to hear. He couldn’t be Spencer Reid and do this. He had reached a new outer marker on his path of survival. Rollo was right: he didn’t need muscle to scare anyone anymore; he just needed to be himself.


	24. Chapter 24

The breadth of Strauss’s criminal enterprise could neatly fit into the definition of ‘dynasty’. Just combing through the paperwork alone, even with his reading skills, took nearly five days. She had documented everything, which was part of her problem. He told her that everything must be digitized and remain mobile. Part of the success of the early Italian Mob in America, he pointed out, was that the Dons kept all of their numbers and deals in their heads. Documents were a prosecutor’s wet dream. 

He showed her the details that had tripped up international investment companies and the ways that they tracked down past drug cartels by following the trail of their shell companies. He told her what rung bells with federal auditors as opposed to the IRS, and then he set up systems that would enable her to avoid both. He showed her how to diversify her delivery routes, to reduce the losses if some were intercepted, and he convinced her to stop using obvious ruses such as an unnecessary laundry service. He taught her how to hide her money the way oil companies, biotech conglomerates, and corrupt charities did. Strauss was amazed by his knowledge and he was amazed at how easy it was for him to use it for the wrong purpose. It made him physically ill every day after he left her office.

He lost weight. He pulled away from everything. Although he still trained with Rollo everyday, he knew that Hotch was noticing the change. It was just a matter of time until he called him on it. But Reid didn’t have any ready answers when he did.

Reid was hunched over the toilet in his cell, heaving up the last of his breakfast when he felt the air shift. It was the middle of the day - the middle of a work detail - he thought that he’d go unnoticed.

“Are you okay?” Hotch’s voice was gentler than Reid felt he deserved and it made him irrationally angry.

“Go away.” He heaved again.

“Doc, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. Bad eggs.”

Reid flushed the toilet and wrenched himself towards the sink to rinse out his mouth and splash his face. He ran wet fingers through his hair until he could get it to stay out of his face and then dropped himself to the cell floor, leaning his back against the wall with a sigh.

“What do you want, Hotch?”

“I want to know what you’re up to. I believe that I have been more than patient about your current attitude.”

“‘Patient about my attitude’? Christ, Hotch, you can be so conveniently obtuse when you choose…”

“I can’t apologize any more for what happened with Rizza…” Hotch spoke quietly and took a few steps into the cell.

“Oh, yes you could.” Reid responded icily and Hotch stopped in mid step.

“Okay, maybe I could. But may I remind you that _you_ agreed to certain conditions of our association freely and knowingly, and most of what I did that day was simply invoke those conditions.” He raised his hands before Reid had a chance to object. “Giving you to Rizza was wrong - I admit that. But I also hasten to add, as I did that day as well, that I _never_ would have let him have you. I was calling his bluff. Everything about that situation was about protecting you and strengthening your authority in my crew.”

Reid frowned and cocked his head a little. “You know, you talk exactly like a lawyer sometimes…”

Hotch looked away. “Is that supposed to be insulting?”

“Take it however you like. I’m just reminded of that joke about how you can tell when a lawyer’s lying…”

“His mouth is moving.” Hotch answered and then stalked towards Reid, bending to glare at him. “Keep nursing these wounds if you want, Doc, but I thought that you were made of stronger stuff - _smarter_ stuff - than that. All I’ve ever done is protect you but I’m still constantly justifying my actions to you. The time of tolerating your insolence in front of the rest of the crew has come to an end. Don’t make me turn you into an object lesson for the others. We are - _I’m_ \- not your enemy in here.”

Hotch’s face softened fractionally and he cleared his throat as if trying to come up with a more pleasing tone.

“When you want to discuss what’s bothering you, I’ll be around, Doc. That’s what the gang is about - having your back when no one else will, no matter what.”

Reid scowled but didn’t offer anything else. Hotch stood, but when he realized that he wasn’t going to get anything, he sighed and then strode out of the cell with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And for your own sake,” he added “Stop eating the damned eggs.”


	25. Chapter 25

It took Reid just over a month to hide Strauss’s sins from the world, but by the time he had finished he could no longer pretend to ignore the implications of what he had done. Breaking apart the kind of Byzantine deception that he had created for Strauss used to be what got him up in the morning; it was part of the way that he made amends for his past failings. But he was pretty sure that no amount of good deeds in the future could undo _this one selfish act_. It was just like an addict to prostitute every little part of himself in order to get what he wanted, Reid thought miserably.

Strauss entered her office, paperwork in hand and distracted by her smart phone. Reid stood quickly behind his desk and cleared his throat to get her attention.

“I cannot continue to do this.”

He spoke quietly but she stopped and looked at him as if he’d shouted. Although her lips thinned slightly, her expression didn’t change as she waited for him to proceed.

“I did what you asked - the audit will pass the most rigorous inspection.” He tried to make his voice sound reasonable, rational. “I am inconsequential now… in fact, allowing a genius mathematician to work in your office might bring undue scrutiny to an otherwise straightforward process… a possibility that can be easily avoided by allowing me to take a break from your office duties.”

Strauss walked to her desk and meticulously laid out her files across it. Then she turned away to look out the window to the yard below, as if his announcement were no more important than what the cafeteria was serving for lunch that day. 

“Concern for the appearance of this office’s propriety isn’t what drove you to this. Your objection is moral rather than practical.” She sighed heavily. “I had hoped that you were more enlightened than this, to be honest Doctor.”

“I am a cop-”

“You _were_ a cop, and a smart one at that. You know exactly how the world works. Don’t try and the play the babe in the woods routine with me - you are not innocent in this either.”

God, didn’t she think that he knew that? Couldn’t she see that _that_ was why he was trying to get out? Strauss turned to face him, posture relaxed but with a glare that nailed him where he stood.

“Your guilt is a liability, so I agree that you should take a break from your duties here. Until you can come to terms with your actions. That’s what prison is all about after all, isn’t it?” Strauss raised an eyebrow at him. “Once you have had time to reflect upon the situation - and see the costs and benefits inherent in what you have done - you may return here and we can continue as before.”

“Continue?” Reid went cold all over.

“Of course.” She smiled as if indulging a slow child. “Capable partners are difficult to come by and I know that your loyalty to me will remain absolute. After all, we have both made decisions and commitments here that we cannot walk away from.”

Reid had a sinking feeling that she meant something more than mutual collusion. Her face changed suddenly to something more compassionate, as if she had just remembered something.

“Speaking of which, this development distracted me from telling you my latest news about Smitrovich. Sadly, this morning the warden of Lee Penitentiary called to inform me that Victor Smitrovich was stabbed in the yard last night. He’s dead. More’s the shame as I was just about to send a lawyer associate of mine over there to take his statement…”

Reid turned himself to stone so that he wouldn’t react, wouldn’t let his knees buckle beneath him, as the potential for his vindication burst into flames before his eyes. A part of him watched Strauss for signs of gloating or revenge, but her mask of pity was seamless. It was more proof than he needed as he looked upon the face that had manipulated him in cold blood to keep him bound to her as long as she wanted. Hotch really had nothing on this woman.

“Prison is such a violent place.” She continued blithely. “It is just further proof that anything can happen to anyone, no matter their worth.”

The threat was obvious: you are never getting out, so play along or else. Perhaps he was naïve to have ignored this eventuality for so long, but it seemed improbable that Strauss could be _more_ corrupt and deceptive than Rizza or Golem or Hotch. Even if she was dirty, he had hoped for the possibility of a genuine quid pro quo between them - an honest appreciation of his talents and sympathy for his plight. Yeah… stupid.

“This must be very upsetting to you. Perhaps another lead will surface… anything is possible. I will keep my ears open. And perhaps your need for a break is well timed… this is such a blow. You may leave now if you wish. Take some time to consider your future, Doctor.”

Reid stood quite still and then nodded dumbly when the silence between them became pointed. Strauss buzzed in Gerard from the hallway and nodded towards Reid with a motherly smile.

“Take him back, Gerard. He has some decisions to make.”

“Yes ma’am.” Gerard oozed enthusiasm and then winked at Reid, as if he had been waiting his whole life for whatever subliminal message Strauss just passed him.


	26. Chapter 26

Reid never made it to the showers as Gerard had promised. Instead, he took his beating in a blind corridor in the Admin section of the prison that conveniently had no cameras. Reid didn’t fight back. He was seasoned enough to realize that that would only prolong things. He took the blows and did his best to protect his head, rolling himself so that the guard’s fists and feet only bruised rather than fractured. Gerard’s radio squawked as he was really starting to enjoy himself, and he responded tersely before sighing and dragging Reid to the security checkpoint. Gerard dumped him in a hallway that led back to Gen Pop with one last kick to the ribs.

“Whatever choice she gave you, know that you really don’t have one.” Gerard hissed. “It’s her way or a numbered pine box by the outer fence. That’s as close as you’ll ever get to freedom, cop killer.”

Reid didn’t doubt that any longer. He listened as Gerard’s footsteps fell away and then he slowly rolled himself so that he could sit against the corridor wall. He made a detailed inventory of what his nerve endings were telling him, but it didn’t seem as if anything was broken. He sat, bleeding, for a long time and tried not to think about anything at all. Then, as he knew it would, Hotch’s face appeared in his mind.

“That’s not a solution.” He chastised himself.

But really, Hotch was the only option left. Reid would come clean about working for Strauss - the deal, the drug business, all of it - and see what the devious con had up his sleeve. It was the best choice from a handful of awful choices. Reid just hoped that Hotch had a great idea - and the ability to forgive disloyalty - otherwise his life would be brief and painful.


	27. Chapter 27

Reid quickly cleaned up before trudging across the yard to the boxing ring. The tournament was now just days away and Hotch could be found here almost any hour of the day buried in the business of scheduling and overseeing the last of fighter training. He leaned against the base of the ring, back to Reid as he approached, though Reid was under no illusion that he would catch the man off guard. Reid came to stand beside Hotch without a word, at arms-length away. They hadn’t spoken to each other much - and certainly not civilly - so Reid was nervous about how to start the conversation.

“Are you here to practice?” Hotch murmured casually as his eyes followed the fighters in the ring.

“No.” Reid cleared his throat. “I need to speak with you privately.”

Hotch looked at him then and what he saw made him stand up straight as his face darkened. He took a step towards Reid and waited for Reid to dodge him or back away. When he didn’t, Hotch reached out slowly and placed two fingers under Reid’s chin, gently pushing to one side, and then the other, so that he could take in the damage done.

“I’m in trouble.” Reid whispered. “I’ve done something… and you’re not going to like it.”

Hotch’s eyes remained on Reid’s face although Reid could almost feel how much they wanted to look at his inner arms instead. He sighed inwardly - he didn’t have time to reassure Hotch about _that_ , and frankly it was starting to grate on him that his addiction still mattered so much to Hotch anyway.

“Can we go somewhere?”

Hotch nodded and walked towards the shade of one of the guard towers. The yard was mostly empty except for the few fighters who were waiting for their turn to train; the rest of the population was on work detail at that time of day. Hotch leaned slowly, back against the weathered stone, the shadows of his face made more menacing by the gloom of the tower’s shade.

“Tell me.” He said quietly.

“I started working for Strauss during your last visit to solitary confinement.” Reid breathed. “She had me look over her books and streamline her processes… it was all very innocent in the beginning. And she said that she believed I had been wrongfully convicted.”

Hotch closed his eyes briefly and then nodded waiting for Reid to continue. But Reid immediately tweaked to Hotch’s lack of tension and then shook his head at his own foolishness.

“But you already knew, didn’t you?”

Hotch lifted a shoulder and then let it settle again. “Not until recently. Your escalating irritability and physical changes seemed out of proportion with what was happening… with the crew. I decided to look at outside influences.”

“Are you upset?” Reid blurted, not happy that the answer mattered so much to him.

“Not really. You were just playing the percentages, Doc, like you always have. Our partnership became… less favorable, so you looked for other alternatives. I probably would’ve done the same thing in your position.”

It was hard to read Hotch’s face in the shadows. His voice was even and measured, but Reid found it difficult to imagine that his news hadn’t troubled Hotch at all. Hotch loathed Strauss…

“Besides,” Hotch interrupted Reid’s thought process with a deep sigh. “I knew that she’d come for you eventually. You possess too many tantalizing skills to ignore.”

And _that_ was the reason why Hotch was so calm. Maybe it had been his plan all along.

“Is that why I’m valuable to you? Is that why you pursued me?!”

Hotch remained still in the shadow of the guard tower, refusing to give anything away. The blackness in Reid boiled up and seared him with volcanic resentment. His hands started to shake with pent up energy and all he really wanted was to hit something until it was wet and soft and broken under his rage. Was it so much to ask that he matter to _someone_ just for his own merits? He’d never understand what he’d done to deserve this life of isolation.

“You… you…” He hissed.

“What did she promise you?” Hotch skirted the betrayal lying between them and got back to business.

“She said that she’d look into the circumstances of my conviction. She believed in my innocence.”

“That’s because it’s believable, and because the possibility of freedom is probably the only thing that could trump your loyalty, Doc.”

“Why are we even bothering to talk if you know everything already!” Reid spat, fists curling at his sides.

“I don’t know everything.” Hotch murmured. “When did the other shoe drop?”

Reid stepped until he felt the coolness of the tower stones at his back and pressed his body into their unforgiving strength. Every kick that Gerard had given him came alive at once until his body throbbed in painful arcs as much as his mind did. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, facing up and away - in the only direction that still held freedom.

“The prison is going to be audited.” He mumbled.

“Well, then-”

“No, I made it all go away.”

“What?”

“She told me that she’d found a witness in my case, and then she showed me her _real_ books. And I fixed it for her.” A breath shuddered out of him, wet and shameful, and he clamped down on his instinct to give in to his despair. “I reallocated her assets, I changed her delivery networks making them more complex and harder to track, I forced her to move storage offsite, I encrypted her communications, I had her rotate her transportation services, I encouraged her to replace all of her middle men and to never deal with them in person…”

“Wow… I mean… wow…” 

“I can’t help it - it’s how my mind works. It was an elaborate puzzle… now, it’s so convoluted that no one will find it by accident, and even if they did, they wouldn’t guess at the greater whole.” Reid opened his eyes and searched for Hotch’s in the shadows. “You were right all along, Hotch, and now I’ve hidden it all from view. I’m an addict… and I’ve done something that will enslave thousands more. My actions will _kill_ people… do you have any idea what that feels like?”

“Doc,” Reid felt Hotch grab his arm and pull him closer. He didn’t resist but he distantly wondered how Hotch could bear to touch him after what he had done. “We can fix this… we can still get her…”

“She won’t let me go, Hotch. She’ll never let me go now…”

“Pull yourself together!” Hotch’s hands grabbed the side of Reid’s face to focus his attention. “You have to go back to her… you have to stay on the inside. You’re the key now, Doc, don’t you see? You know everything - all we need is some hard evidence and we can take her down. Before it was just rumor but now it’s real - _you_ made it real, Doc!”

Reid wrestled his way out of Hotch’s grasp and stared at him with something akin to horror. Hotch was _excited_ \- as if he had been waiting for this news for a long time. He hadn’t heard Reid’s pain or his guilt, and he didn’t seem too concerned about the inherent danger that Reid was in either. There was nothing in him in that moment other than his insatiable, inscrutable motivation for justice.

“I don’t understand you!” Reid hissed. “You’re a fucking _thief_ \- why are you so bent on Strauss’s destruction? I’ve heard your justification before - about drugs - but your zeal, your fervor… it just doesn’t make any sense with who you are. What is this to you that you are willing to sacrifice everything and everyone to it?!”

“My motivations are my own.” Hotch growled and stalked towards Reid. “You have no idea what I’ve done to get to this point, so don’t opine about the nature of sacrifice to me. If you think that I’m oblivious to the costs, you would be mistaken. I have just already acclimatized myself to the price - that’s all. I suggest that you do the same.”

Reid flinched as if Hotch had hit him. “And to think that I once wanted to be like you…”

Hotch went completely still, half in the tower’s shadow and half in the midday sunlight. He uncurled his fists and rolled his shoulders as if he was trying to shrug into a disguise of civility. 

“You need to go back, Doc. If this really makes you sick, then go back and fix it. Bring me some proof and I’ll make sure that her secrets won’t stay hidden.”

“Is this what you meant when you said that the crew had my back when no one else would?” Reid leaned in and bared his teeth. “I don’t know how you’ve convinced yourself that you’re any different from Strauss, because from where I sit, the only thing that separates you two is which side of the security door you’re on.”

He turned quickly and headed back to the main building, even brushing past Rollo who had jogged over at the sound of their raised voices.

“Doc!” 

Rollo called after him, but Reid closed himself off to everything but the sound of falling through space. There were no outstretched arms to hold on to, nothing marked his passage as he fell. Like a pebble thrown into an ancient well, the listener would have to be patient, his ears sharp, to hear the sound he made as he broke the surface at the bottom. Sometimes, if the well were deep enough and the pebble small enough, it wouldn’t make a sound at all - like passing into nothingness. 

His arms were on fire and by the time he reached the quiet cool of the main building, he looked down and realized that he had been scratching them. Blood seeped through the white cotton sleeve at his left elbow and he stared at it, watching the pinprick drops bloom into crimson petals delicate as spilled ink. 

There was one hand outstretched to him - just one. He had been so good at denying so many things since he’d come to this place. But as he watched the stains grow on his sleeve and followed their imaginary source along the vein that he had tortured so gleefully in the past, he found that he no longer had the energy to deny this. It had been his contingency plan from his first day in stir, and it had comforted him. Now he wanted more than just the comfort of the idea, so when he came to the split in the corridor that he was traveling along, we went left towards The Row instead of right towards his cell block.

….

“Boss, what was that about?” Rollo huffed as he jogged up to Hotch.

“He told me that he was working for Strauss. She coerced him into helping her hide her drug business and then she double-crossed him, I assume. We really didn’t get that far…”

Rollo’s brow creased as he stood looking at Hotch gape-mouthed for almost a minute. “I knew that he was up ta somethin’ and that it was draggin’ on him, but... Wait… what did _you_ say to him ‘bout all of that?”

Hotch looked to where Reid had disappeared into the main building. “I told him that he had to go back, had to keep working for her until he could bring us some proof.”

“Goddammit Boss, don’t you see that he was askin’ fer help?!”

“Of course I do.” Hotch snapped and looked over at Rollo. “That’s what I gave him.”

“By sendin’ him back into the viper’s nest?”

“It’s the only way.”

“Boss, you know I trust you. I’d fight all the way down ta hell and then walk up to the Devil and kick ‘em in the balls fer you, no sweat.” 

Rollo got up in Hotch’s face, jabbing a thick finger into his chest. “But that’s ‘cause I know you inside an’ out. _That_ boy,” Rollo pointed towards the main building. “Doesn’t. But he wants to - you can see it in the way he is around you. Why can’t you let him know that he matters? That’s all it’d take. You ain’t seen him struggle the way I have these last few months, but he’s stronger than he thinks. I seen him practice ‘til his legs give out, I seen him play the role you needed him ta play with the Rooks, I seen him swallow down his beliefs and become somethin’ else because _you_ told him to… He’s a skinny-ass kid, but he could run this shithole some day, and you know that we could do a whole lot worse than that. Tha only thing he needs is for someone ta tell him that he’s worth it - like you did me, ‘member?”

“I can’t do that.” Hotch didn’t meet Rollo’s eyes.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because,” Hotch drew a deep breath and then let it out again. “If I tell him he matters - if I tell him _why_ he matters - he’ll stay in the fight until the bitter end. He won’t even think twice about it.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“The bitter end might be a lot closer than he thinks. If he hates me… well, maybe he’ll just do enough and then get out unscathed.” 

Rollo stared hard at Hotch in disbelief.

“Boss,” He said finally. “Fer all yer preachin’ and fancy ideals, sometimes I think that yer the same sort of ignorant wretch as the rest of us.”

The strongman shook his head and headed back to the boxing ring.

 

**END OF PART 2**


	28. Chapter 28

Twitch looked up at the sound of footfalls coming towards him down the darkened corridor. Junkies don’t _stride_ \- they don’t walk with confidence. It’s more of a furtive impatience or chemically altered anxiousness with them. So he looked up, expecting trouble, and, sure as shit, found some.

“Where is he?”

The Row was gloomy - the junkies liked it that way - but despite the dark and even on the dying end of his latest trip, Twitch recognized the tall, straight-backed silhouette standing before him. He hesitated, knowing this man’s reputation, and considered the response that was least likely to result in a beating.

“Don’t bother conjuring up a lie.” The dark man huffed softly. “I know he’s here. Just tell me where and I’m no longer your problem.”

“Hey man, that’s bad for business.” Twitch shrugged. “He came here himself - no one forced him… you can’t just come down here and…”

“Have you forgotten where you are? Are you really that far gone from the junk?” The dark man sneered but didn’t move otherwise. “Anything goes and I’m not here to ‘save’ your customers one by one, Twitch. Just tell me where he is.”

Twitch sighed. He was way too mellow to fight this battle right now; he felt the sudden urge for a line of coke…

“Down the row, seventh cell, I think.” He gestured lazily into the receding darkness. “That dude’s a fiend for the junk, man - I ain’t never seen someone go from clean to heavy-hard the way that guy has. Dude wants ta die or somethin’…”

The dark man stood very still for a moment and made a weird sound, like he was choking on something. Then he strode very quickly down to the cell that Twitch described. 

“Don’t see why you care…” Twitch mumbled mostly to himself. 

Voices raised and lowered, echoing through the corridor, but a minute later the man passed him again carrying a limp body over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.

“I didn’t force him, Hotch.” Twitch called out to the figure moving quickly towards the light at the end of The Row. “You gotta know that. He came looking for me…”

He watched the silhouette disappear and then slumped back, fumbling around for his morning joint.

“No one but a fool loves a junkie, man…” The flame of his lighter illuminated his face momentarily as he took a long drag, and then set about rousting the rest of his customers for the day.


	29. Chapter 29

Reid’s eyes hurt and he couldn’t focus. It was very bright and every time he opened them he felt blinded. He rolled to his side, shielding his face with his hands, but that made things worse. Nausea rose up violently at the movement and he still couldn’t see anything. His whole body came alive with sensation and he ached as if he’d been beaten for days. He gagged and tried to choke down the bile that he tasted in his mouth as he reached out blindly for his gear. His hands hit nothing but mattress and he couldn’t see worth a damn; he groaned in frustration. If some con had stolen his next fix…

“Drink this.”

He felt the edge of a cup pressed to his lips and drank on instinct. The water hit the back of his throat; cool and alien, and only then did it occur to him how hot he felt all over. His hands clamped around the cup and he gulped greedily, barely making space to breathe. He sagged back into the mattress and distantly wondered why he was wet and shaking. He had a sudden technicolour image of himself leaking the water that he’d just swallowed out through large, hungry mouths that appeared all over his body. He needed to plug up those holes… he needed to - …

The water came back up as he violently vomited on himself. Someone swore softly.

“He needs real help - this is bad. We need to take him to the infirmary.”

There was a low growl of disapproval.

“He can’t cold turkey this, Boss. He’s real fucked up.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“I-I…”

“I’m not saying it’s yours.” The growling voice sighed.

“It ain’t yours neither.” The other voice was much quieter. It was almost impossible for Reid to hear over his sporadic retching.

“Just gimme a little. I’ll be fine.” The conversation hadn’t included him but he felt that he had the answer that they were looking for - whoever they were.

“No.” Finally, the growler addressed Reid directly.

“I’m hurting.” Reid’s voice was a dry rasp and when he paused to catch his breath, he thought he heard someone make a sound that echoed how he felt. “I just need a little… to even me out… I can pay you… do whatever you want.”

“Fuck, Doc…” The quieter voice said.

“Sure, whatever you like.” Reid agreed quickly. He didn’t care what these guys wanted or how they wanted to do it so long as they gave him his gear back. Just one shot and he wouldn’t feel much of anything anyway. And he needed it - the shaking had already started. After that his muscles would start to seize and the body aches would become pulsating throbs of bone-crushing pain followed by hallucinations, heart palpitations, and a complete loss of control over his bodily functions. He didn’t have much time to make this work. “Just gimme a shot and you can do what you want… come in every hole I’ve got… I’ll suck you… make it good… just give me a minute to wash up and - ”

His head snapped to the side as he was hit hard across the face. It knocked the wind out of him and his eyes opened for the first time in spite of the blinding lightness. A dark, fuzzy face appeared in front of him. The details were sketchy but somehow he could tell that the guy was scowling.

“Doc!”

“What?! For chrissakes, gimme the shot first!”

“Boss, he’s out of his mind! We need to get him help!”

“Get out.” The growl sounded lethal now.

“Boss!”

“ _I_ did this to him, Rollo, it is _my_ responsibility…”

“So get his ass to a doctor!”

“They’ll take him - transfer him… I… He’s…” The growler cleared his throat loudly. “I still have plans for him. I need him to stay here.”

“You need ta get right with your intentions here.” The quiet voice hissed. “Yer plans are gonna tear him apart - You ready for that?”

“Rollo…” The growler warned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m leavin’, don’t worry. You just remember what I said. I ain’t gonna say it again. This boy is better than both of us…”

“See to the runners as well.” The growler called out. “We can’t afford to seem weak right now.”

Reid squinted and saw a fuzzy shadow move away. Footfalls fell and grew softer as the shadow disappeared. It must have been his lucky day: it seems that he’d only have to blow the growler. He began to fumble with his jumpsuit trying to struggle his way out of the damp, smelly mess - maybe the growler would give him some more water and he could clean himself a little first…

“Imma mess.” He slurred. “Don’t worry though… I can make it good. You’ll see… make you come like a commuter train…”

“Stop, Doc… stop.”

“You’ll enjoy it…”

“Doc - there’s no shot.”

Reid felt the growler’s hands grasp his shoulders lightly and hold him still. It took a moment for the sentence to sink in but when it did his body reacted with instantaneous panic. He couldn’t survive the sickness again - he knew it - and furthermore, it wasn’t part of his plan. He was going to do as much junk as he could as fast as he could and then pass away into a fuzzy, dark oblivion and finally escape his life. _That_ had been the plan and he was looking forward to it. Growler was just in the way - he needed to get his gear back. Reid struck out at the shadow that he could barely see and contacted with a loud crack. His body shifted into instinct mode as he found the energy to lurch from the mattress and head in the direction that he assumed would lead him back to The Row. A hand caught his ankle and he shook it fiercely but only succeeded in unbalancing himself.

“Let go! Deal’s off - you don’t have anything I want.”

“I know.” The growler’s voice sounded thick and wet but his grip remained. “But I can’t let you go.”

Reid kicked out with his trapped leg and hit something solid. He heard the growler groan but then the grip around his ankle tightened and yanked him backwards. He stumbled to regain his footing, but instead the back of his knees met a body sending him sprawling. His head hit something hard and cool at the wrong angle and he had a moment of blinding pain before darkness swallowed him up again.

….

When he woke, his head was splitting apart and his body was coiled into the tightest, most hurtful knot that it could manage. White-hot cords of pain throbbed through him causing the muscles and tendons in his arms and legs to contract even more violently until it felt as if his bones would snap from the tension. The release afterwards reverted him back to the all-over body ache that was more like a really bad bout of flu, but even that had him grinding his teeth and digging his nails into his palms until they were slick with blood. He shivered and boiled at the same time. The mattress prickled against his skin and he knew from the feel of it that he was naked. A cold cloth pressed against his head but he cried out and threw it away, returning to the rocking, moaning, stewing mess that had become his entire world.

“Doc.”

The voice was far away and he didn’t have any interest in responding to it. Just hearing it made his skin itch.

“Doc, drink some water. You need it.”

A hand slid into his sweat-soaked hair and tried to guide him forward but he shook it away. He still felt the fingers burning into his skull like acid.

“D-don’t t-touch me!”

“Doc…”

“H-hurts… stop t-talking… hurts so m-much”

“Please Doc, I’m begging you… please.” The voice was barely a whisper now - more like an idea made of air. And it sounded scared.

Another spasm of rictus-inducing pain thrummed through him, lighting up every nerve ending with sensations so intense that it took everything he had just to breathe through it. Afterwards, large motes swam across his eyelids telling him that he had held his breath too long, that he was probably killing off vital parts of himself just by lying there.

“Hotch.” He gasped.

“Yes?”

“I want Hotch.” Reid shuddered as a cold rush swept over his fevered body. “Get him for me.”

“Doc, I-”

“He was s-supposed to protect me. H-he promised…”

A frighteningly vivid image of Hotch rose up behind Reid’s eyelids and he couldn’t help the mixed surge of relief and anger that the sight provoked in him. What made it worse was that the image suddenly quirked its lips ever so slightly in a smile and he felt momentarily wanted and worthy that he received such a thing. The self-loathing that followed, clamping down on him like a physical entity, made him cry out before he can stifle it.

“He promised…” He choked out.

“I know I did.”

A hand gently brushed hair away from his fevered forehead but he jumped at the touch and the hand was gone again.

“T-tell him something for m-me… if I d-die…”

“You’re not going to die, Doc.”

“T-tell him… that I knew. I knew what he w-was.” Reid licked his cracked lips but his mouth was so dry that it didn’t do any good. “He f-fooled the others, but I s-saw…”

“Saw what?” The voice was low and cautious.

“H-he’s just a goddamned liar. A r-really good one… but o-once you see how the t-trick is done, the magician loses his p-power…”

The smiling image of Hotch faded behind Reid’s eyelids and a wet sigh ripped from his chest as another wave of pain washed over him. This time the throb was so strong that his neck muscles snapped his head back and locked it into place as he gritted his teeth so hard they felt as if they were cracking. His hand grabbed a fistful of mattress and pulled it to him until he heard fabric tearing. A searing-hot hand clamped down over his, refusing to be shaken as he tried to jump away. It just held him harder.

“T-tell him I s-saw it,” He hissed through a closed jaw. “And I-I decided to b-believe him anyway.”

….

He resurfaced again and felt the fever searing across his skin. His vision had cleared and he saw Hotch sitting cross-legged on the floor next to his bed in his cell, but he couldn’t trust that it was real because Elle was there too, looking at him with that pained expression that she used when he just didn’t get something. He was happy to see her again, despite everything; he missed having someone to talk to, to spill out all of his stupid realizations.

“I’ve missed you.” He croaked softly as she smiled at him.

“Doc?” Hotch’s face wrinkled in confusion.

“Where are my manners?” Reid continued. “Elle, this is Hotch. Hotch, this is Elle.”

“I know who he is.” Elle purred as she leaned against the cell wall. “He owns your ass.”

“Don’t be crude. It’s not like that…”

“Really? So he isn’t using you to shore up his own power? He isn’t trying to build his vendetta on your bones? And he didn’t try to farm you out to another guy that he wanted to control? My mistake…” Elle laughed.

“It’s different here - everyone’s out for themselves. He just did what anyone else would do, Elle. And he never _did_ give me to Rizza…”

“Doc, who are you talking to?” Hotch looked slightly terrified.

“Elle. I just introduced you. She’s right behind you…” Reid looked at Hotch like he was insane.

“Wow, Reid, you’re never going to change, are you? You want to belong _so much_ \- to have someone care about you - that you leave yourself wide open to assholes like this guy.” Elle stepped forward and stabbed a finger at Hotch. “Why are you trying so hard to find something worthy about him, huh? Are you so alone that you’d prostitute yourself to a pathological liar if he just looked at you the right way?”

“C’mon, Elle…” Reid’s voice darkened.

“Are you so desperately horny that you’d settle for _this_?” Elle took another step towards Hotch, her face creasing with disgust. “Got any Daddy issues, Reid? I always thought that you were just too shy to ask me out but I shoulda figured that you were just a insecure fag instead…”

This wasn’t Elle. He was hallucinating. She was problematic and selfish, but she never judged him and there was always softness in her voice when she spoke to him, even if she was teasing. But she seemed so real… vivified and glowing in a way that she never was in his memories. And Hotch was there. Hotch seemed very real…

“Doc, there’s no one here but you and me.” Hotch reached out and touched Reid’s hand. It felt warm and solid, and now Reid was truly confused.

“Elle, I never judged you about your relationship with Adam, even though it put both of our careers at risk. I just wanted you to be happy and safe. I never thought that you’d demand that he leave his family for you - that you’d be so blind to the consequences of threatening such a powerful man…”

“And look at what happened?” Elle’s clothes started to darken in odd patches. The stains grew and eventually began to leave crimson drops on the floor of his cell. “I’m dead and you’re a criminal. _He’s_ gonna do the exact same thing to you, Reid! Can’t you see that? You’ve fallen under his thrall already and he doesn’t give _a damn_ about you - just what he can get from you.”

“No, Elle, you’re wrong. I know what he is. I’m different now - stronger than I was. You left me here alone and now I have to live as best I can…” His voice caught in his throat. She was almost completely bloody now.

“I know, Reid… I’m sorry. I should have protected you - you didn’t deserve this. But I can still help you…” Elle pulled a long knife from her bloody coat and walked towards Hotch, who was still staring at Reid. “Lemme do what I couldn’t do for myself. Let me save you from this man…”

Elle raised the knife with both hands. Reid yelled and tackled Hotch, rolling over him as he placed his bare body between Hotch and the knife blade. Hotch struggled beneath him, swearing in shock and wrestling to get control of Reid. Reid blinked and suddenly Elle was gone. He looked down at himself and saw that he was covered in blood; the floor was practically a lake of it. He flipped over and frantically grabbed Hotch, manhandling him roughly trying to find the knife wounds. But he was covered in blood too… so much blood…

“HOTCH!” He cried. “Where is it? Where did she get you? We need to stop the bleeding?!”

“Doc, stop!” Hotch rolled them over and tried to pin Reid’s flailing limbs to the cell floor. “DOC, STOP! I’m not bleeding!”

“SO MUCH BLOOD!”

“Stop it, stopstopStopSTOP!” 

Hotch pushed his body down into Reid’s and held him still until his frantic outburst drained him. He freed one hand and cupped it over Reid’s mouth. Reid struggled but eventually fell under the sway of the things Hotch murmured into his ear.

“It’s just us here, Doc. You and me. I’m okay and she was never here. You’re just sick - hallucinating - but you’re going to be alright. I promise. I won’t leave you until you’re alright. Just be calm, Doc. Remember to breathe… I’ve got you…”

Reid mumbled against Hotch’s hand and he removed it.

“I don’t understand…” He said weakly.

“Neither do I, really.” Hotch forced a smile. “What do you see now?”

Reid looked around. “Just us. No blood.” He looked up at Hotch for a moment. “Are _you_ really here?”

“Yes. Can’t you tell?”

“Well… I can feel you…”

Hotch paused for a moment and then jumped off Reid with a mumbled apology. Reid tried to stand but didn’t quite make it, so Hotch grabbed an arm and wrapped his hand around Reid’s waist guiding him back to his pallet. Reid dropped down on it like a baby bird, all bones and shivering frailty. He closed his eyes and worked hard to clear his throat.

“What’s happening to me?”

“Withdrawal.”

Hotch crouched down in front of the bed and offered Reid some water. He gulped it down and felt hotter all over as a result. His whole body started to shake again.

“How long?”

“About 30 hours now.”

“Why am I naked?”

“You keep vomiting and sweating through everything. Rollo’s going to make a laundry run for you in the morning.” 

“Oh.”

Hotch pushed Reid gently until he laid back into the mattress and then guided another cup of water to his lips. Reid let him do it, his hands shaking too violently to avoid getting water all over himself. He watched Hotch fill the cup again and then return, offering him more silently as he brushed a few plastered strands of hair from Reid’s face.

“Why are you doing this?” Reid’s voice almost didn’t make it through the whole question.

Hotch sat back on his heels as he held the water cup and stared at the floor. He rolled his shoulders as if to work out a kink in the muscles there and then he sighed.

“I made a huge mistake with you, Doc.”

Reid wondered if that statement was disappointment aimed at Hotch or himself. He didn’t have much time to ponder it before exhaustion unceremoniously dropped him back into shivering unconsciousness.

….

The next time he woke, it felt as if years had passed. He ached all over like an old man but at least the throbs of blinding pain had stopped. He tried to look around him but found that the simple act of moving his head took more effort than he possessed so he just closed his eyes again and moaned. He became aware of hands moving across him, lifting and arranging his limbs, and finally the coolness that followed them. 

And then he became aware of the smell: piss and shit and the miasma of entropy engulfing him like a cocoon. He opened his eyes again when he felt his whole body shift. Hotch stood over him, blue-purple smudges under his eyes and a half grown beard making him look wild, stuffing a bed sheet into a prison laundry sack. He stopped and stared hard at Reid, perhaps waiting for something. All Reid could manage was another moan that he hoped had an interrogative tone to it. Hotch turned away and quickly returned with a fresh bed sheet. His hands moved around Reid’s body with practiced ease as he slid the sheet under him and secured it to the mattress. Reid wondered when he’d learned to do that. Hotch crouched down and looked at him.

“Are you cold?”

Reid realized that he was - not like before, as if glaciers were moving across him cutting open his skin with the pressure that could mould landscapes, but, yes… cold. He nodded. And then he understood that he was naked, that the previous coolness he felt was a washcloth.

Hotch moved to a stack of folded laundry piled neatly on the one chair in Reid’s cell. He produced a grey towel and began to dry Reid everywhere, repeating the actions that woke him in the first place. Reid felt a blush of shame rise up his neck but couldn’t do anything except close his eyes and pretend that he wouldn’t remember Hotch washing him like an infant.

“It’s okay, Doc.” Hotch’s voice seemed very quiet, very close. “Nothing to be ashamed of here.”

Reid felt the bitter laughter bubble out of him before he could form the argument in his mind about the falseness of Hotch’s statement. It was just as well - he was too weak to debate it anyway. Hotch’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed until Reid opened his eyes again.

“Everyone breaks eventually, Doc. And when your body’s had enough, we all end up the same way - your piss and shit isn’t any better or worse than anyone else’s.”

Reid swallowed a few times before he could convince his throat to work.

“How long?” He rasped.

Hotch looked around as if someone could answer that for him. In the end he ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in strange spikes, and shrugged. “This is the third day… I think. You’re really doing much better, but we have to get you to start eating or the progress won’t last.”

Eating felt beyond him but if he’d really been out of it for three days then Hotch was absolutely correct. “Water first.”

Hotch nodded, quickly washed his hands in the cell’s tiny sink, and then returned with a battered cup. One hand slid into Reid’s hair, cradling his skull as it boosted him up to drink. Reid took what he could and then shook his head so that Hotch would lay him down again. It was a pathetic display but Reid reasoned that it was probably welcome after washing a piss-soaked, comatose junkie. Hotch’s fingers seemed to have activated a pulsating sting under his left ear.

“Head hurts.”

“I’m sure it does. You took a header into the sink a few days ago. That had me almost as worried as the hallucinations.”

Reid didn’t remember that and looked to Hotch for further explanation. That’s when he saw the large purple bruise almost hidden in the beard along his jaw. His lower lip was split and swollen as well.

“Your face…”

Hotch unfolded a blanket from the laundry pile and spent a minute draping it over Reid, tucking the ends gently under his body with care.

“You did that.” He said eventually. “Trying to get your next fix. It was a good hit - knocked me right on my ass.”

Reid sighed and closed his eyes. “Shoulda let me die.”

“No.” Hotch’s anger forced Reid’s eyes open again. He was shaking his head and scowling. “No.”

“Why not? ‘M gonna die in here anyway. Some day.”

“You’re not going to die in here.”

“Supreme Court of Virginia says otherwise. Shoulda let me go on my own terms.” Reid swallowed hard; this was more talking than he thought he could manage and the warmth of the blanket was making him sleepy again. “My last chance just got shivved…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Strauss…”

Reid’s eyelids drooped once, twice, and then he gave up trying to fight it. He felt Hotch’s hand on his shoulder again, gently trying to shake him awake.

“Doc, what does that mean? Doc?”

Reid made a face and tried to snuggle into his cardboard-thin mattress. He mumbled something that even he didn’t comprehend.

“You need to eat, Doc… eat something for me and then you can sleep…”

Reid pulled the blanket closer and sighed. “Sorry.”

Reality dimmed quickly but Reid heard Hotch speak distinctly once more before he drifted off, as if he were hovering right next to his ear.

“I won’t let you die in here.”

Reid wanted to snort and ask Hotch how he proposed to stop it, but, in truth, he was too tired and didn’t really give a damn about the answer anyway.


	30. Chapter 30

Between Rollo and Hotch, Reid had managed to make it down to the showers and back. It was a good thing too because, even slipping in and out of sleep, he realized that he smelled awful. Rollo had bulled the other cons out, leaving Hotch and Reid alone and undisturbed; at least there were a few perks to being a gang leader’s bitch.

Hotch stripped Reid down - Reid didn’t bother feeling shamed by it anymore considering that everything he did lately redefined the term ‘pathetic’ - and propped him up against the shower wall under the spray. Reid had to admit that the feeling of clean, warm water flowing over him, carrying away the stink and the sweat and the ache as it went, felt as close to a miracle as he had experienced in months. It’s amazing what you take for granted, he thought. Hotch let him haphazardly scrub himself with a thin bar of soap, steadying him when he lost his balance, but when it came to his hair, Reid admitted defeat. Hotch pushed him under the spray and worked shampoo through Reid’s tangles, massaging his scalp until Reid became pliant under his hands. It felt fucking fantastic and he found himself leaning into Hotch’s hands, groaning a little as the soapy water rushed down his face tasting the strange tang of it across his lips. Reid didn’t question when Hotch rinsed him and then lathered up his head again. His hair must have been really disgusting, that’s all. If he had been anything more than a reanimated corpse, Reid probably would have found it arousing. But Hotch wouldn’t. He felt certain of that.

Back in his cell, freshly clothed and sitting on his pallet, Reid watched Hotch pull up a chair and unpack a small sack of food that he would force Reid to eat. Hotch’s hair was glossy and newly tamed after their shower but a few strands still rebelled in vertical spikes that were close to comical. He still had his beard and Reid found it interesting how it changed his appearance, making him seem fiercer and older at the same time with its bold flecks of grey. Hotch handed him a clear tub containing a few slices of thick bread, a fresh banana, a handful of something that looked like raw spinach, and two hard boiled eggs. Reid picked up the bread and took a tentative bite: it had real butter on it.

“How did you get this?” Reid tapped the side of the tub.

Hotch’s mouth lifted in the slightest of smiles. “I have friends in low places.”

They both ate in silence for a while, staring at their food or at their feet. Maybe the shower thing was weird after all, Reid mused.

“Thanks.”

Hotch looked up then. His face was a battleground: the smudges under his eyes were now hollows, the bruise hidden in his beard was turning yellow around the edges, and the lines around his mouth and eyes looked permanently etched. He seemed as if he wanted to ask something, and when his lips thinned into a tight line instead of speaking, Reid knew what the question was.

“Eat your spinach.” He said instead.

“I can’t give you that promise.”

“About the spinach?”

“No.” Reid was patient because anything else required energy that he didn’t possess. “Not the spinach. I can’t promise you that I won’t use again.”

“Why?” 

Reid was taken aback by the hurt in Hotch’s question. “Because this isn’t how I want to live, Hotch. Being valued only by what others can get from you, facing what I did for Strauss - looking down the barrel of _that_ day after day after day… It’s different for you - you’ll get out some day. You have hope. I think that must be what gives you your strength. I wanted to emulate you - to act as if this place didn’t touch me - but I see now that the key ingredient is missing.”

He fiddled with his spinach for a moment.

“You had no right to interfere.”

“No right to stop you from killing yourself?!”

“That’s right.” Reid was becoming calm in direct proportion to Hotch’s anger. “Why did you do it, anyway? You were very clear about abandoning me if you ever caught me using again…”

“I… it… they’re my rules - I can break them if it suits me.” Hotch stuttered as his eyes flicked around the cell nervously. “I made you a promise and then failed to deliver on it. It was my fault that you went to The Row in the first place.”

“Obligation only takes a man so far, Hotch.” Reid didn’t think that Hotch’s commitment included wiping a junkie’s ass. “I never really gave you anything of value, so it’s fair to assume that you could renege on your promise of protection… no harm, no foul.”

“No _harm_?”

Reid sighed. “We both know that you are an accomplished liar. This act of contrition is a wasted performance on me… I’m sure that you have better things to do with your time.”

Hotch stared at Reid with the same cold penetration that he had used on him just after his arrival in stir. It was an analytical look but Reid also saw that it was a mask that Hotch used when faced with something that he didn’t understand. What Reid never got was why Hotch felt the need to understand him in the first place. Once it was clear that he didn’t offer much value to the gang, surely Hotch’s eyes should’ve slid to other possible opportunities… Why did Hotch spend so much time trying to make Reid believe in his illusion of honour?

Hotch wrapped up the remainder of his lunch and quietly rose from his chair, placing it back in its spot against the wall.

“You’re right. I do have better things to do.”

He left quickly and didn’t look back. Reid sighed, slowly placed his unfinished lunch on the floor, curled a thin blanket around him, and went to sleep without another thought.


	31. Chapter 31

Reid went back to laundry detail. No one commented on his absence or his sudden reappearance, and they all worked around his half-speed efforts without so much as a raised eyebrow. Laundry wasn’t hard work but after each shift, it was all he could do to force himself to eat something and then collapse onto the mattress back in his cell. Under this exhaustion ran a thin, hot vein of desire to go back to The Row. It prickled his skin like being rolled over barbed wire and the lust cluttered up his brain. 

He was no longer resentful of Hotch for sobering him up - curious, but not resentful - but the man’s efforts had done nothing to alter Reid’s plan. He was waiting for his strength to return, and he was waiting for Hotch to stop watching his every move. It wasn’t Hotch, per se; it wasn’t even Rollo. It was usually a gang member that Reid had yet to make a meaningful connection with, and it was always from a distance, but Reid marked his watchers as surely as if they were wandering around with a big yellow X on their chests. Again, it seemed curious that Hotch was still going to such lengths to protect Reid when the man’s disappointment and anger were so apparent. Reid figured that it was a display meant for the other members benefit, and when it eventually waned, he would be free to do whatever he saw fit with the rest of his life. He hoped that Hotch’s pantomime wouldn’t take too long.

Strauss, too, had failed to take an interest in Reid’s sudden absence from his office duties. He had no doubt that she knew exactly what was going on, but he wasn’t important enough for her to save. At this point, the federal audit would have been either cleared or flagged, and considering that the prison wasn’t crawling with bean-counting feds, he assumed that his paper shell game had paid off for the Warden. The immediate threat had dissipated; should she need further help, she could always find herself another numbers man. Or blackmail another con. Reid didn’t know what he found worse: Hotch’s pretense of salvation, or Strauss’s cold disposability. 

“Reid!”

He looked up from his place in front of an industrial washer and saw Morgan standing in the facility doorway. He hooked his finger in Reid’s direction and frowned. Reid hurried over, planting himself in front of Morgan and focusing his gaze on the man’s goatee.

“Yes, Boss.”

Teeth flashed in the middle of that goatee but his mouth was still frowning.

“You look less corpse-like today.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Since you’re still here, I take it that you’ve learned your lesson.”

Reid’s eyes met Morgan’s then and when he saw the patronizing disapproval there, he felt a profound urge to practice his right hook on the guard. They were all so smug in their control, but _this_ was the one thing that was his alone. So long as there were drugs to be had here, he’d have an exit strategy and there was nothing that they could do about it. The black tendrils of power suddenly thread through him and his mind sucked on them hungrily as if they were the only nourishment that would keep him going. He raised his chin and gave Morgan’s glare back to him.

“Yes. Boss.”

Morgan took a long breath and then let it out before his eyes fell away from Reid’s.

“The Warden has been busy but she wants you to know that she is aware of this situation. And that she expects you to return to your work in her office as soon as you have recovered your strength.”

Well… not as disposable as he thought. Despite his attempt to throw them both off, Reid had managed to retain both Hotch’s and Strauss’s attention. He’d have to do a better job of dying the next time.

“Go to Gerard when you are ready.” Morgan turned to go and then looked back and pointed a finger. “Try not to provoke him - he’s looking for a way to hurt you again but is too afraid of the Warden to do anything directly. Remember that.”

Reid blinked at the unsolicited advice and, just as quickly as they had appeared, the black tendrils receded. Morgan was a puzzle and if Reid had still been an FBI agent, he would have delved into that puzzle more thoroughly. As a convict, he didn’t have the luxury of curiosity, so he pushed the impulse aside and lined up with the rest of his shift when the meal alarm sounded.


	32. Chapter 32

Reid was halfway through a novel about vampires, werewolves, and teenagers with alarming personality disorders when Hotch strode into his cell and dropped a battered box beside him on his mattress. Reid hadn’t seen or spoken to Hotch in a week but the man had a casual look about him as if they’d agreed to meet up like this. He squinted at the ridiculously romantic cover of Reid’s book.

“What on earth are you reading?”

“The spine has a stamp on it that says ‘tween fiction’, but ‘between’ what I can’t figure out.” Reid tossed the book to the edge of the mattress. “The library selection here is awful.”

“I found this in the library.” Hotch nodded towards the musty box. “But I doubt that it will improve your opinion of the place too much.”

Reid slid open the lid and saw a chessboard along with an odd assortment of chess pieces, checkers, bottle caps, and Monopoly pieces. He reached in and pulled out a small figure of a curvy woman in a grass skirt. When she moved, her hips wiggled seductively. Reid looked back to Hotch with a raised eyebrow.

“Some of the pieces are missing. I guess the inmates replaced them with what they had over the years.” Hotch shrugged. “She must be a Queen, don’t you think?”

Reid continued staring dubiously. He wanted to know why Hotch had appeared again and felt that the question was implied, hanging in the air between them.

“You play, don’t you? I assumed that a mathematical prodigy who’s always calculating the odds of things probably knows how to play chess…”

“Yes, I play.” Reid said quietly wondering how long Hotch was going to ignore the obvious.

“Good.” 

Hotch dumped out a crate that Reid had loaded with books from his recent library visit, upended it, and began to set up the board. Reid sighed as he watched Hotch pull over a chair and expectantly wait for Reid to make the first move of the game. What the hell, he thought, it had to be more entertaining than the teenaged exploits of supernatural creatures.

His chess skills were rusty and his patience had atrophied a little with drug use, so it took Reid longer than usual to beat Hotch. The man was an intermediate player prone to bold openings and a certain wildness when cornered. His strategies were slightly unpredictable, but by the third game, Reid had his number. He was also surprised to learn that when Hotch was focusing on the game, he didn’t expend any energy guarding his expression; he almost looked like a completely different person - like someone you could trust...

“Checkmate.” Reid slid his bishop into its killer position on the board and then lounged against his mattress watching Hotch.

“Damn. I won’t win against you, will I?”

“It is not impossible, but I think that outcome is highly improbable.”

“Must be nice.” Hotch grumbled but his mouth lifted in a half smile as he reset the board. “Another game, or are you tired?”

“Why are you here, Hotch? What do you want?”

Hotch lowered his eyes and fussed with the pieces on the board. He seemed unsure of himself and, act or not, Reid had never experienced that from him before. Even against his better judgment, he wanted to believe in this version of him.

“I don’t want anything from you, Doc.” Hotch said quietly. “Except, perhaps, for you to stay alive.”

“Tell me why that matters so much to you.”

“Listen. I’m a liar and a thief and a manipulator. You know this, and there’s no way that I can convince you that I’m being truthful when I say that I believe in the code that this gang lives by, brutal though it may be at times. And I believe in your value - not to the gang, but to me - and I would do what I can to safeguard that value.”

Hotch took a breath and flicked the hula girl statue so that her hips began to sway.

“It’s up to you whether you choose to believe that or not, but either way, you owe me nothing. There is no debt between us.”

Reid remembered the sound of Hotch’s voice as he ordered Reid to his knees in the shower, and when he ‘gave’ Reid to Rizza. He remembered being told to go back to Strauss and clean up his own mess… Anger rippled under his skin washing away the goodwill that Hotch was hoping to invoke now. He sat up and dug his fingers into the mattress so that he wouldn’t suddenly fling the dancing hula girl back at the man across from him.

“What is this ‘value’ I hold for you?”

Hotch stared, trying to judge Reid’s expression. In the end he just shook his head and held out one of his hands as if holding something.

“Rollo has value to me. His strength and loyalty are unmatched and I use them to my advantage whenever I can. But his opinion, his perspective, his _friendship_ are far more valuable to me. He challenges me when he thinks I’m wrong. He forces me away from my own selfishness to make better decisions. And he reminds me of the honour that I want the others to embrace.”

Hotch held out his other hand.

“You hold a similar value to me, Doc. I’ll admit that I can’t quite figure you out, but that frustration hasn’t made you any less interesting. When I first came here, I had goals that were buttressed by what I thought were fundamental beliefs in me. But somewhere along the way, I lost sight of those beliefs, and the goals became everything instead. You have reminded me of those beliefs. I want them back, Doc - I need them back. When my time is done here, I don’t want to leave as the man I am now.”

“I don’t see how I can help you with that.”

“ _Being here_ is how you help, Doc.” Hotch leaned forward, his eyes almost pleading. “I know that you’d rather be anywhere else, that you feel as though you have no options left to you. And I know that the temptation to despair and sink into your addiction is almost too strong to resist, but I need you here and if that means keeping you from The Row every day until the end of my sentence, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Jesus.” Reid sighed and fell back onto his pallet. He felt the press of inevitability weigh upon him and covered his eyes with an arm to force his tears back. All he wanted was to be left to die in peace… “On the outside, no one gave a damn about me. But in here no one will let me go.”

“I know.” Hotch’s voice was low and close. “Sometimes survival is its own curse, isn’t it?”

“What if I don’t believe you? What if this is just more of your endless self-interested scheming?” Reid mumbled.

“You don’t have to believe it in order for it to be true. I won’t touch you again, or compel you to do anything for me, but _I will_ stop you from getting to The Row. Count on it.”

Reid curled up into a ball and turned towards the cell wall trying not to give his misery a voice. Now he was the prisoner of a man as well as a system and none of it seemed fair at all.

“Doc,” Hotch sounded gentle, but Reid didn’t care now that he knew the man’s altruism had just erected another cage around him. “Did you go to The Row because of… of what I did, or because of Strauss?”

Reid rolled over immediately and stared hard.

“You mentioned something while you were delirious… how your 'last chance just got shivved’…”

At least Hotch had the good sense to look guilty.

“I know her methods. And I know you a little. You wouldn’t help her any more than I would unless she offered you something… something undeniable. There’s only one thing that you really want, isn’t there?”

“Yes. Freedom from this place.” Reid hardly dared say it above a whisper. “But what does it matter to you, when you are denying it to me just as much as Strauss?”

“Wait.” Hotch raised a hand. “I had Jenkins do some digging and he confirmed that Strauss made inquiries to several federal prisons once you began working for her. He also discovered that at one of these prisons, a con was murdered a week after her inquiry and under mysterious circumstances that no one sees fit to investigate. _That_ was just before you began using again. I can guess how she set it up: she lured you with the possibility of exculpatory evidence but when you balked at her requests she told you that the evidence had conveniently evaporated. Am I right?”

“She said she’d found a witness, but once I’d made her audit bombproof and demanded to be released from my obligation to her, she told me that he’d been murdered. She apologized but added that she’d keep looking - as long as I kept helping her.”

“But that’s the thing.” Hotch’s voice rose and his eyes brightened. “Jenkins found out that the dead con had been locked up in New York when your partner was murdered, so he couldn’t have witnessed anything directly.”

“Then why have him killed if he was just lying?”

“Because maybe he was cellies with someone who _was_ there. Strauss probably didn’t expect to find any evidence, but when she found someone with a name to offer, she had to silence him. The irony is that in killing this guy, she’s pointed us in the right direction.”

“What do you mean ‘us’?” Reid hissed, angry that Hotch had dared to spark anything but apathy. “I’m stuck here. I have no resources, no law enforcement contacts anymore… I can’t even afford a lawyer! Who’s going to run down these phantom leads for me?”

“I know a lawyer - a good one. And he’d help out for free just to have the satisfaction of seeing Strauss twist in the wind.”

“More friends in low places?”

“In a manner of speaking. The point is, he’ll do this - I can guarantee that - and he’s a bulldog. If there’s evidence to be uncovered, he won’t stop until he finds it.” Hotch leaned forward and laid his hand across the open space on Reid’s side of the chessboard. “But it’ll take time, Doc. _This_ is the hope that you lacked, but you’ve got to commit to hanging around long enough to see it play out. Can you do that?”

Reid wanted to tell Hotch to shove his hope. He wanted to scream that everyone should mind their own business and stop trying to fix him. He wasn’t a child and if he wanted to tank the remainder of his life, that was no one’s concern but his. But just thinking the word ‘freedom’ lit a powerful flame within him, more alluring than his need to get high and more intoxicating than the dark force of power that thrilled him.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Reid looked at Hotch and knew that the man would keep his word about dogging his steps. “I want to believe you, Hotch, I really do…”

The five-minute warning alarm for lockdown sounded, and Hotch stood slowly.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I promised that I wouldn’t let you die in here, Doc, and I meant it.”

Hotch left quickly and Reid picked up his crappy novel once again, trying to keep his mind from the swirl of questions in his head.

“We’ll see.” He said to himself as the cells locked and the lights went out.


	33. Chapter 33

“If you keep concentrating like that you might stimulate an aneurysm.”

Reid sat on his pallet, his back against the cell wall watching Hotch’s face contort and frown as he considered possible moves. Hotch looked up suddenly with genuine curiosity and Reid thought that he could almost imagine the boy that Hotch had once been in that look.

“How long have I got?”

“Three moves. There’s a gambit you can try that’ll buy you some time, but whatever you do, you’re done in six moves maximum.” Reid smiled.

“You know, I was wrong - I don’t like you at all.” Hotch deadpanned. “Are there any games that you _aren’t_ good at?”

“Plenty. Anything that involves running and tossing a ball at the same time, for example. I’m also pretty bad at Twister and Pictionary. But I rock at video games. The game algorithms are complex but my spatial relationships skills are off the charts so it all evens out.”

Hotch stared at Reid for a moment and then laughed heartily. It changed the whole look of him, giving him colour and creases that Reid had never seen before. Reid couldn’t help but join in, for once feeling that he was included in the joke rather than the victim of one. The laughter died out and Hotch went back to pondering the board. Reid fidgeted as he thought about how to start the conversation that he’d been working up to for the past hour.

“Strauss wants me to come back.” He said quietly.

Hotch looked up again, the familiar scowl back in place.

“I’ve been putting it off, but it won’t be long before Gerard comes for me.”

“She’ll use you as long as she can.” Hotch growled and Reid wondered at whom his anger was focused: Reid or Strauss.

“I can’t refuse. I’m complicit in the audit fraud and, even if that didn’t matter, she could still find a way for me to have a convenient accident in here.”

Hotch’s stare took on a murderous look but he remained silent for a long time, long enough for Reid to get worried.

“I know what you’re thinking and I agree. I knew that you were right when you told me to go back… I just didn’t want to admit it.” Reid added quickly. “The only way to stop her is to expose her but it’s not that easy.”

“You remember every shipment history, every figure that you altered…”

“You _know_ that I do, but I’m a convicted felon and a co-conspirator in Strauss’s crimes. Even with a documented eidetic memory, my testimony would be considered an unverifiable witness statement in need of corroborating evidence. No self respecting attorney would attempt to file an indictment based on my statements alone.”

Hotch’s scowl melted into a small smile that he tried to hide by looking down at the board. “Always a cop… and I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the daredevil nature of many attorneys. In my experience, many of them will file complaints if you give them a ham sandwich. But you’re right - we do need more if it’s going to stick. What about shipments and payouts? How did you structure them? How does she track them?”

“The structuring is complex on purpose in order to avoid accidental detection. She kept hard copy ledgers but she always handed them to me - I don’t know where she keeps them. Then I convinced her to digitize the information in order to make collating and reporting easier.”

“On her computer? Could you email the files?”

“It’s a lot of data and my computer access was always supervised. She wanted to control that as well and I extolled the virtues of mobile information, so it’s all on a portable external drive that she can take with the ledgers.”

“So, we take the drive.”

“She handed it to me and took it back after every session.” Reid sighed.

“We get a duplicate. You can switch out the real one with a dummy.”

Reid went silent trying to stomp out the flicker of hope that sprung up at Hotch’s suggestion. He shook his head and sagged back against the cell wall; hope was a trap. His track marks started to itch and he scratched at them absently. Hotch’s eyes watched the movement and went very still.

“Even if I could manage to switch the drives, we’d have a small window of opportunity before she realized what happened. We’d have to have someone from the outside - someone who matters - online with the plan so that we could get the information out and to the right people.”

“I have that covered.”

“Really.” Reid gave Hotch a dubious look.

“I know someone at the Federal Prosecutor’s Office. I approached them some time ago about what he’d need to get Strauss. If we can get him this evidence, he’ll do the rest.”

“And you trust him?”

Hotch nodded and contemplated one of his bishops. “As much as you can trust any lawyer - it’s not a field that attracts saints. He’s deeply committed to upholding the law though. I trust that.”

“You know, you’ve never adequately explained why you hate Strauss so much…”

“I hate people who abuse their power, Doc.” Hotch moved his bishop viciously, taking Reid’s rook. “And I especially hate those who think that they can get away with it.”

Reid ignored the loss of his rook; Hotch wasn’t playing the gambit - he was too ruled by emotion at that moment. Reid countered with the move that would end the game after two more turns.

“You realize what an ironic position that statement places you in, don’t you?” He said as softly as he could. “Check.”

“Yes.” Hotch tried to protect his doomed king. “I realize that I’m a villain trying to catch another villain…”

Reid thought that was one of the saddest things he had ever heard. “Okay, just thought I’d ask. Checkmate.”


	34. Chapter 34

Reid dawdled on his way from the laundry to the cafeteria, lost in consideration of all the factors currently at play in his life, when he heard someone coming up behind him. He waited until the footsteps were almost upon him and then pivoted quickly, ducking and striking out at the same time. A large body shifted and Reid’s blow glanced off him, making very little impact.

“Nice one, Doc.” Rollo chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. “But you still gotta move faster.”

“I don’t understand how someone as large as you can move so… I want to say ‘gracefully’, but I’m afraid that you might be offended…” Reid straightened and told himself to start breathing normally again.

“Hmmm, graceful… ain’t never been accused of that before. Sorry fer sneaking up on ya. I shoulda called out or somethin’.”

“Yes, you should have, but to be fair, I still might have hit you. I seem to have developed this feral reaction to people approaching me from behind…”

“That’s good, Doc. You’ll live longer - trust me.”

Reid sighed; it didn’t _feel_ good. It felt like his high school bullying fear magnified tenfold. “So, did you need something, Rollo, or was my cardiac arrest your only goal this afternoon?”

Rollo grinned and clapped Reid on the shoulder as they resumed their path to the cafeteria. “I thought I’d join a friend for lunch… and to remind you that there are games in both the National and American Leagues tonight. Need some odds for them…”

“That’s baseball, right?”

“Yeah, it’s baseball.” Rollo rolled his eyes. “How can you make book on somethin’ you know nothin’ about, Doc?”

“I understand the numbers - that’s all I need.”

They arrived at the cafeteria and lined up with the rest of Gen Pop for whatever strange offering the kitchen was serving. Rollo held his tray and looked at Reid with concern.

“I know that you got a lot on yer mind these days, Doc, but I think that ya need to get back on top a the numbers business. It’s strainin’ my G.E.D. learning somethin’ awful…”

Rollo said it with humor but Reid could tell that he was a little embarrassed that he couldn’t figure out the math behind the odds making. Reid’s relapse had occurred just before the boxing tournament, and his recovery meant that Rollo had been forced to take over ‘the book’ duties of the gang in his absence. Now, that Reid was back on the straight and narrow, he was slowly easing himself back into his role within the crew, but had yet to relieve Rollo of his burden. He suddenly felt guilty that he had forced his friend into this uncomfortable position for so long. It was a testament to the value that Rollo placed on their friendship that he hadn’t brought the situation up sooner.

“You’re right, Rollo.” Reid nodded and rocked awkwardly as they waited in line together. “I’ve been pretty inwardly-focused for a while now and have abused your generosity. I’m sorry - you’re a good friend. I should’ve lived up to my responsibilities better.”

“Aww, nah, Doc. That ain’t what I meant…”

“S’okay, Rollo, I know what you meant. But I still owed you an apology. Addicts are selfish creatures and sometimes I need to be reminded of the bigger picture.”

“You been through a lot, Doc.” Rollo lowered his voice. “I ain’t one ta judge how you cope with it all. But I’ll tell ya - you scared tha hell outta me, disappearin’ tha way you did. Scared me _and_ the Boss like we ain’t never been scared before.”

“I know.” Reid breathed and looked at his shoes. “Sorry.”

He felt Rollo’s hand, impossibly big and solid, land on the back of his neck and squeeze gently. It was only for a moment and then the pressure was gone. When Reid looked back up at the strongman, his eyes were focused on the food being dished out by the k.p. crew. Reid sighed at the easy nature of this improbable friendship, and then made a ‘gimme’ gesture with his hand.

“Lemme see your sheet.”

Reid kept all of his numbers and tallies in his head but knew that Rollo had to write everything down. Rollo looked embarrassed and then fished out a much-folded sheet of paper with hastily scrawled codes and numbers listed in tight rows. Reid focused on the numbers intensely, waving off various lunch offerings with a distracted hand as they passed through the lunch line gauntlet. By the time they made it to the crew’s table, Reid realized that he’s only collected a few slices of bread and a wormy apple for his midday meal. He had also identified a pattern in the numbers.

“They’re skimming.” He murmured as he sat down.

“Yeah, but we knew that long ago.” Rollo answered as he took his traditional spot next to Hotch.

“But their skimming is _organized_.”

Hotch looked up at that.

“The trend is fractional, but increasing at regular intervals. First one, and then a group within two or three cycles of the initial skim. Like they are testing our tolerance…”

“Or blindness.” Rollo said as his face coloured with guilt.

“It takes time for a pattern to appear - you couldn’t have anticipated this, Rollo.” Reid gave Rollo a lopsided smile and then slid the sheet across the table at him, finger pointing at one coded entry. “Who’s this?”

“Ahh… that’s a new one. A kid named Nik-Nik.”

“I think it’s time that we were introduced. When’s the next drop?”

“Tha runners gotta collect from tonight’s games so… tomorrow evening.”

“Alright. Change the drop location.” Reid nodded to Rollo, and then turned to face Hotch. “We’re going to play chess in your cell tomorrow night.”


	35. Chapter 35

Hotch and Reid played game after game of chess in silence as the bookmaking runners came to drop off their balances from the previous week’s run. Rollo manned the cell doorway, accepting the payments as the runners looked nervously into the cell at their oblivious masters. Neither Reid nor Hotch looked away from the board for any of them. The evening wore on until Reid heard Rollo clear his throat and then whisper ‘Boss’ over his shoulder. Hotch didn’t move; he knew that Rollo wasn’t speaking to him.

Reid rose slowly from his chair after claiming one of Hotch’s knights, and walked over to the cell door where Rollo stared at a runner. The kid couldn’t have been older than twenty-two, but wore the wary face of someone who had learned to protect himself from an early age. He looked over Rollo’s shoulder at Reid with his jaw set and his head held high, ready for a fight.

“Is he the one?” Reid asked quietly and Rollo nodded.

“I got a name.” The sinewy runner said tightly.

“Yes, Nik-Nik. You’ve been stealing.” Reid said without preamble.

“Prove it.”

Reid chuckled darkly. “Look around you… do you see a judge and jury here? I don’t need to prove anything. You’ve been skimming, and encouraging others to do the same. We’re here to discuss repayment.”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Nik-Nik’s bravado dimmed a little.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Sure. Yer the junkie that used ta run book for Hotch. I heard you been chasin’ the dragon like a wannabe dead man…”

“So, you figured that no one would catch onto your scam?” Reid said without skipping a beat. “The one where you not only skim profits from us, but also eat into the five percent that we kick back to Rizza? How do you think that your Boss would feel about one of his own screwing him over and setting up a tidy side business using other Rooks to do his dirty work for him?”

Nik-Nik just stared.

“Skimming is something that I tolerate in my runners because it amuses me. A con’s got to make a living, right? But when a runner oversteps my generosity - like you have - and organizes others to do the same, essentially setting up a business _within_ mine… well, I take that very seriously.” Reid stepped forward so that he was standing next to Rollo. “You have not earned what you have taken from me. And now it’s time to give it back.”

Reid heard the springs of Hotch’s pallet creak behind him, and he knew that Hotch was listening to the exchange intently.

“I don’t…” Nik-Nik mumbled.

“You and your cohorts have taken eight thousand, seven hundred, thirty-five dollars and sixty-six cents over the past eight weeks. On the outside, this wouldn’t be an outrageous sum, but in here it’s quite something. Do you _have_ eight thousand, seven hundred, thirty-five dollars and sixty-six cents to give me?”

“I only took a couple o’ thousand…”

“Of course, but you’re the leader of this band of robbing hoods, so you must stand for _all_ of the debt, Nik-Nik. What am I to do with you, hmmm?”

Nik-Nik’s eyes narrowed, as he stood a little straighter. “I don’t give a fuck what you do, junkie. I answer to Rizza, not some dead man walkin’ who probably won’t stay off the gear long enough ta see Christmas. You got a problem with me? Take it up with my man, Riz.”

Reid sighed and cocked his head to one side. He watched Nik-Nik for a moment and then lifted an instructional finger.

“Here are the mistakes in judgment that you just made in ascending order of importance. One: you don’t want me to take this to Rizza. If you believe that he values your life more than the _entire_ profit that he derives from our partnership, I think that you’ve miscalculated your own worth as well as his sociopathic tendencies.”

Reid raised a second finger. “Two: even if Rizza stands for you and your band of betrayers, it’ll mean war between us, and no one makes any money as long as that happens. If the Rooks go down, I’ll come after you anyway - if we lose, the opportunity for you to skim evaporates leaving you back where you started.”

He took one step closer and raised a third finger. “And finally: since I’m a junkie and clearly do not value my own life, you should be a lot more concerned about me than you currently are. I have nothing left to lose, nothing that you can threaten me with - I am without limitations. Why else do you think that Hotch would go to such pains to keep me alive?”

The pallet behind Reid creaked again, and he felt Rollo shift incrementally at the same time. But he was playing his role, swimming effortlessly through the darkness that he immersed himself in whenever he was called upon to do gang business. He didn’t care about anyone’s reaction but Nik-Nik’s, and he didn’t have time for anything else either.

“I will extract every single cent that is owed to me in whatever manner I see fit, even if the end result is blood instead of profit. There’s nothing that anyone can do to stop me. And if you doubt my resolve, perhaps you ought to have a conversation with Rollo here.”

Reid nodded towards Rollo, eying the long, hideous scar at his throat meaningfully.

“You’ve made a very significant mistake, Nik-Nik.” Reid continued softly. “But it need not be a fatal one.”

Nik-Nik stood very still for a long time, evidently mulling over his less-than-attractive options. Eventually, he closed his eyes and nodded his head as he swallowed hard.

“I don’t have the money.”

“I know. But you can repay the debt in other ways.”

“How?” Nervous tension lined Nik-Nik’s brow.

“Information. You’re a smart kid, you’re careful, and you can draw men to you and keep them in line. These are very valuable skills - I doubt that Rizza sees the same potential in you that I do otherwise he’d put you to better use than being a low-level runner.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“It’s just a matter of time before Rizza tries to make another move against us. I want you to keep your eyes open - that’s all. When he does - when he first starts _thinking_ about it - I want you to come to me.”

“That’s it?” Nik-Nik’s incredulity was plain. “That’s all you want for all the money I stole?”

“Don’t underestimate what I’m asking of you: you are to inform on every move that the Rooks make from here on out. I’m asking for your confidentiality in this matter and a certain amount of loyalty. If you betray me, the debt stands and I’ll collect in blood. If you fulfill the bargain, the debt is cleared and I’ll give you my word that I’ll always deal with you honestly - you can make your own choices when the time comes, but you _will_ give me the information I seek regardless of which side you take.” 

Reid held out his hand.

“It’s a fair deal, considering the company that we both keep in here. Are you amenable?”

“Does that mean ‘do I accept’?”

Reid nodded once.

“Yeah, okay then.” Nik-Nik sighed and shook Reid’s hand. “Can I go now?”

“Yes.” Reid waited for Nik-Nik to turn away and then called out his name again. “No more skimming. I want full drops from now on. If your fingers are still sticky, see that you take it from Rizza’s five percent, not us. Trust me - I’ll know.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but instead turned back into Hotch’s cell and resumed his seat at the chessboard. He felt Hotch’s eyes on him but he refused to look up. Hotch’s king was four moves away from being boxed in; Reid harnessed the surging darkness within him and tried to focus it on the game - as if destroying a toy monarch could satiate the appetite that he was struggling to control. 

He found that he loved bending the wills of men with words alone. It was something that he was good at, and he was surprised at how much his intellect frightened other cons. Jenkins had been right after all: you had to do a few things to establish yourself, and that usually involved violence. But after that, it was all about maintaining appearances, and you could do what you liked. He had been disgusted by cutting Rollo and terrified by what Hotch did to Golem, but had to admit that they helped manufacture his disguise of an unpredictable, crazed murderer with a death wish. It made things a little easier. 

The only thing that worried him was that he was starting to _like_ his alter ego. He almost hoped that Nik-Nik would refuse his offer so that he could come up with inventive ways to get payback. _That_ wasn’t him - that wasn’t the same man who had nightmares about the people who’d die because of what he’d facilitated for Strauss. That wasn’t the man who worried about what Hotch thought of him. Sooner or later these two versions of him would have to come together and only one of them could be dominant. He really wondered which would win out: one was necessary for survival, but the other one was his soul.

Reid played out the rest of the match in silence, capturing Hotch’s king in three moves. He collected the piece with a grin and looked up at Hotch for the first time.

“Another game?”

He was shocked by the sadness in Hotch’s expression. The harsh lighting of the cell made his face look drawn and his skin sallow. The lines around his mouth seemed longer and deeper than they should have been. He shook his head once and just stared back at Reid.

“I don’t feel like playing anymore.” He said quietly.

“Oh, okay.”

Hotch’s look was all it took to banish the bloodthirsty Reid and resurrect the insecure, sensitive one. He felt as if Hotch’s disappointment were a physical ache lining his shoulders and cramping his neck. He rolled his head to ease it as he packed up the chess set and got up to leave. He suddenly felt angry at Hotch even though the man hadn’t said a word about the way he dealt with Nik-Nik. What was he supposed to do? If it was so wrong, why hadn’t Hotch stopped him?

“I did what needed to be done.” He hissed over his shoulder.

“I know.” Hotch murmured. “And it was perfect - exactly what I would have done.”

“Then why do you have a problem with it?”

“I don’t have a problem with _it_.” Hotch sighed, leaving the gaping hole after that thought unfilled.

Reid waited for a minute but when Hotch remained silent he flexed his hands around the chess box and then stalked out of the cell without another word. Hotch could lay judgment where he wanted, but they both knew that things were different in stir. They made decisions every day that turned them away from the men that they thought they were. A man’s morality had very little to do with survival.


	36. Chapter 36

Reid turned from the chow line and made his way towards the gang’s table. The eggs looked especially alien today and he was trying to determine whether they were worth the risk or not. He looked up and saw Jenkins making his way to Hotch’s side - no doubt the information broker would’ve eaten the eggs even if they’d sat up and asked him about his day first. The thought made Reid smirk but it didn’t last as he watched Jenkins whisper something to Hotch that drained all colour from his face. He got up like a shot, nearly toppling Jenkins as he did so, and took off out of the cafeteria as quickly as he could without alarming the guards. 

The table stilled for an instant and then a few members followed, abandoning their meals. Reid looked back and caught Jenkins’ face; the lines were deeper than he remembered and the old man’s eyes seemed glassy. He nodded to Reid and then his eyes flicked in the direction that Hotch had gone. _You need to go._ Jenkins’ eyes slid back and then down before he rubbed his hands together and shuffled away. Reid’s stomach twisted painfully and he dropped his food tray on the nearest table as he followed after Hotch.

The exit he took brought him past the access to the yard (empty) and a T-shaped corridor that led to the cell block in one direction and the showers in the other. Both passages were empty but he heard muffled voices coming from the showers so he headed in that direction. He turned another corner and saw a handful of gang members crowding around the main entry. They shuffled and seemed unwilling to move any further, but Reid didn’t see Hotch among them. He strode up and pushed through until he found himself standing inside the shower room looking down at Rollo’s bloody corpse.

Bile rose up his throat and all of the air seemed to vanish from the room. Rollo stared at him, eyes unseeing, with a garish red smile slashed from ear to ear just under his jaw line. Otherwise, he seemed peaceful - he hadn’t been beaten and his expression was one of surprise. Reid suddenly became irrationally angry that Rollo had succumbed to a surprise attack. The man was larger than life, someone who could intimidate merely by being present in a room. Who was fearless enough to take him unawares and drop him with one stroke?

The blackness swelled within him and blocked out any rational thought. He felt his shoulders roll into a forward hunch as his hands tightened into fists. Some animal instinct electrified him from toes to hairline and he began to shake. _He was my friend. He always had my back._ He felt a howl rumbling inside him - not exactly words, but he doubted that anyone would be confused by it if he set it free. 

_When I find them, I’ll break them open and suck the marrow from their bones while they watch. I won’t allow them to die until I’ve spilled every drop of my hate into them. I’ll watch as it boils and scars and burns them… I want to hear them scream until it’s meaningless…_

His vision expanded briefly. That’s when he realized that Hotch was holding Rollo, kneeing in the pool of blood, cradling his ‘second’ in eerie silence. As if sensing the change in atmosphere, Hotch turned slowly to face Reid. What he saw in that moment snapped him out of his tunnel vision like a light switch being flicked on. 

“Everyone out.” Reid was amazed to realize that the growl had come from him.

The room remained frozen.

“OUT! EVERYBODY OUT - NOW!” Reid bellowed and rounded on the men lingering in the doorway. Most of them took a sudden step back. Reid caught Diesel’s eyes, shocked and wordless, and got right up in his face. “Diesel, get them out. _Now._ Don’t let anyone in here.”

The bullish con snapped to attention, colour seeping back into his face now that he had a task in front of him. He stared at Reid for a split second and then bowed his head. 

“Yes, Boss.” He whispered before turning and shoving the rest of the men from the room.

Reid turned back and stood rooted to his spot as he watched a man that he’d never met before hold his dead friend. Hotch had disappeared in an instant and the person left in his place was someone infinitely more unguarded, scared… _breakable_. He watched as Hotch attempted to lift Rollo entirely out of the blood pool and into his lap, as if the blood would contaminate him. Rollo’s arms flopped with the effort and his head shifted to an unnatural angle; his neck wound was much deeper than it seemed. Hotch made a desperate sound, his legs slipping in the blood underneath him as he struggled with the body. The sight caused a thread of panic to jolt through Reid’s entire frame.

“Hotch…”

He walked up behind him quickly and cupped the back of Hotch’s head, just holding him there, grounding him… _I’ve got your back now._ Hotch made a strange whimper that unlaced some firm beliefs Reid held about the man in an instant. His stomach dropped and his fingers went to work on autopilot, gently circling down into Hotch’s neck as he curled over Rollo. 

Hotch didn’t make another sound after that.


	37. Chapter 37

He waited in a darkened alcove at the edge of The Row where no one would think to look for him. He tried to set his thoughts and his features in stone, but settled for an anonymous scowl when his attempts failed. Most people couldn’t tell the difference anyway - there was some comfort in that. Morgan appeared silently from the gloom of the junkie haven, eyes darting, on alert for anything out of the ordinary. The best part about being on junkie turf was that they minded their own business so long as you did the same.

Hotch stared at Morgan, more tired than he could ever remember being before. Morgan held his eyes for a moment and then looked away with a deep sigh.

“Gerard.” He whispered.

“You’re sure?”

“No one’s said a damned thing but the man is walking around like he’s suddenly got a nine inch dick, so…”

Hotch scrubbed his face viciously. “I can’t believe she’d do this.”

“Really? You can’t?” Hotch could feel Morgan arching his eyebrows in the dark. “This is coming to a point where I don’t think I can protect you any longer.”

“Are you scared, Morgan?”

“She assassinated your muscle, man. You _know_ what’s coming next.”

“Reid.”

“No, she needs Reid, and moreover, she wants him. Why kill Merlin when you can just trap him by killing off Arthur instead? If you’re gone, a lot of her problems go away too.”

“She wouldn’t kill me.”

“You’re just a con, remember? Just like Rollo.” Morgan huffed in frustration. “We need to get you outta here. Now.”

“I’m seeing this through. I’m closer than I’ve ever been before…”

“Well then, you’d better get down with the moves that you’re making because your days are numbered, Hotch. Are you reading me here?” Morgan leaned in and pitched his voice a little lower. “You are running out of time.”

Hotch’s stomach turned sour. He swallowed hard and scolded his legendary control for its lack of focus. A voice that didn’t often speak within him let a nasty thought bubble to the surface. _There isn’t enough time to get you both out. If you want to survive this, you’re going to have to leave him behind._ He shook his head and tried not to think about betrayal.

“I’m going to need to arrange another trip to solitary.”

“When?”

“In the next day or two.”

“Okay, I’ll be ready. At least that’ll keep you off her mind for a while.”

“Morgan,” Hotch took a moment before continuing. “I’m concerned about… Reid’s safety if we pull this off.”

“You shoulda thought about that before you picked him out of the fresh fish line.” Morgan snarked. “Sorry, Hotch - I’m only responsible for you in all of this. Reid’s a cop killer and he’s on his own.”

“She’ll destroy him if she finds out-”

“Well then, you’d better do your fucking job, right?” Morgan leaned in so that his nose almost brushed Hotch’s as he sneered. “Or get used to the sight of blood. It ain’t my problem that you’re racking up debts in your ledger that you can’t damnwell clear off! Just sack up, already - none of this would’ve been an issue if you hadn’t decided to go all ‘Dirty Harry’ with this in the first place. You made the choices, now live with the consequences. Everything else is just static. Get _on_ with it!”

Morgan didn’t wait for a response; he just turned and stalked off into the darkness. The logical side of Hotch knew that he was absolutely right: it was too late for useless hand wringing.

_But Doc._

But what? How could he fix this now? He’d never considered an exit scenario that involved anyone other than himself. Not Rollo, not Doc, not anyone. 

_You’re a selfish little bastard. You deserve what you get._

His abdomen hitched with old, phantom pain. Maybe he deserved to look upon his blood sprayed out across shower tiles and know it to be the last thing he’d ever see.


	38. Chapter 38

Reid found Hotch sitting on the floor of his cell with his long legs stretched around two boxes of letters. He didn’t look up as Reid entered although his frame stiffened a little, so Reid knew that he’d heard him approach. Reid slid to the floor next to him, placing the mismatched chess set box between his own legs. He’d come looking for Hotch, but seeing him as he was, he just sat in silence and waited.

“He had a daughter.” Hotch breathed without looking up. “He wrote her every week from the moment he got sober in here. Hundreds of letters…” Hotch’s hand swept over the boxes. “She returned every single one of them unopened. I found them like this in his cell.”

Reid sighed. “I guess some things can’t be forgiven.”

Hotch stiffened even further but still didn’t look at him. “If she won’t claim his letters, it’s doubtful she’ll claim the body. They’ll bury him here, under three other cons, with just his i.d. number to mark his place…”

Reid went cold as he realized that his and Rollo’s fate were essentially the same. No one would claim him when his time came, and he’d end up buried in a mass grave. No grave stone, no identity, just another forgotten someone… He came back to himself and saw that Hotch was looking at him strangely, as if Reid had suddenly appeared and frightened him.

“He was someone who made some terrible mistakes. I don’t know if he was good or bad, or something in between… he was just a man to me. And I saw him try, every day, to be better. And every week he wrote to her even though he knew that she’d never read it. I wish that his daughter could’ve seen that for herself.”

Reid didn’t know what to say, caught in the frightening mesmerism of Hotch’s grief.

“He died because of what I’m doing here.” Hotch breathed. “I never even asked his permission to risk his life this way.”

“Hotch, don’t-”

Hotch grabbed Reid’s arm _hard_.

“You could die because of it too.”

Hotch’s voice broke over the last word and it caused Reid’s stomach to flip. There was desperation in Hotch’s eyes, in the set of his jaw - the kind that had flashed at Reid that day in the showers with Rizza. Unlike that day, he felt himself tentatively reach out to soothe it, to smooth away the frisson of self-doubt and uncertainty that pinched the man’s eyes and bent his body. The man he had witnessed holding Rollo’s corpse was lost and inconsolable. He didn’t know if it was possible to fake that sort of pain, but, if it was, he was certain that Hotch wasn’t talented enough to pull it off. He had lost a friend that he loved and his guilt was written all over him in sharp, bold script. Now, he looked at Reid with the same fear of loss and it went straight to Reid’s guts stirring up every conflicted emotion, every late night fantasy, every secret hope that he’d ever harboured for Hotch. He let his fingers curve around Hotch’s wrist; felt the racing pulse there, and then found himself looking at Hotch’s lips. 

_You can’t trust this._

_This is grief._

_All this will do is make you hurt like hell…_

Reid’s lips closed over Hotch’s with certainty. He shoved his intellect into the back seat and locked the doors - let it hammer on the glass and demand its freedom all it wanted. Some things were more about being creatures of blood and bone than survival instinct. He pulled at Hotch, wondering when he’d tear himself away, and was surprised when Hotch pushed into the kiss, opening his mouth with a groan as he clutched the back of Reid’s neck. They moved against each other, slipping in and out of their ever-changing grip. Reid rose up onto his knees, knocking the chess box across the cell floor, and pushed into Hotch as far as he could get. The new angle seemed to jolt Hotch out of something, and his hands moved to Reid’s chest pushing him away with a forceful grunt.

“Stop!”

“Why?”

“I promised that I’d never touch you again.”

“ _I_ touched _you_ …” Reid tried to lean in again and was powerfully rebuffed.

“You don’t owe me _anything_ , Doc.” He growled. “I meant that when I said it.”

Reid took Hotch by the wrist and forced his hand to press against his chest where his heartbeat was slamming into his ribcage. Then, with deliberate precision, he forced that same hand to drift down his jumpsuit until it settled over the bulge below his waist. Reid watched Hotch’s expression shift and allowed himself to indulge in the surge of triumph when Hotch’s surprise melted into a flush. Hotch’s pupils dilated and Reid couldn’t help but smile: _Gotcha._

“Obligation only takes a man so far, Hotch.” He breathed. “And I know that I don’t owe you a goddamned thing.”

Reid reached out with both hands and pulled Hotch’s face to him. Their lips met more crudely this time as they moved too quickly, catching edges of tongues and lips, and scoring each other with teeth and haphazard stubble. Hotch’s hands closed around Reid’s ribs and squeezed until Reid moaned a little in warning. Hotch tried to pull back, to say something, but Reid pushed him down to the cell floor, his teeth nipping under his jaw.

“Don’t think.” He mumbled into Hotch’s neck. “Just… don’t think.”

Reid stretched out on top of Hotch and pressed down. He shuffled until he found Hotch hard beneath him, and then ground his own length along it in sympathy. Hotch’s hands flashed to Reid’s hips and painfully pulled him in. They moaned in unison and then, as if he’d just made a decision, Hotch went to work. His hands ripped at Reid’s jumpsuit until the snaps came free. Then Reid felt that hand encircle him, rough from metal shop work, and warm like a furnace. Reid gasped and ground into Hotch more roughly, working himself into Hotch’s fist. He dipped his head forward until his forehead rested against Hotch’s clavicle.

“Fuck, Hotch… I want to feel you…”

Hotch moaned and then Reid heard him scrabbling with his own jumpsuit. Reid’s hands joined the battle and he smiled as he heard the snaps of the jumpsuit give way. Suddenly, Hotch’s hand was gone from him. He looked up and then felt Hotch grip his hips pulling Reid up along the length of him. Their cocks slipped against one another, twitching at friction of skin on skin, and then Reid grabbed Hotch’s sides to begin rubbing in earnest. He tried to breathe through the shots of lust that raced over him with each new discovery, each new touch, but it was a challenge. Hotch didn’t seem to be worried about it, and was getting louder forcing Reid to quiet him with a kiss. After all, they were grinding all over each other in the middle of a men’s prison…

Reid felt something new. Something rough and smooth by turns. He broke away from Hotch’s lips and looked between them. Their cocks were trapped between their stomachs, angered and aroused with every stroke that Reid ground into them. The sight made fire coil in Reid’s groin waiting for the moment when it could take control of him. But Reid also saw the scars - the ones that he had only glimpsed during the horrible scene with Rizza. They crisscrossed Hotch’s abdomen in a haphazard way, lighter scar tissue raised and rough above the smoother skin of his stomach. Reid stroked faster, the sight of the scars pushing him harder. Hotch moaned and arched up into Reid. Without thinking, one of Reid’s hands swept down his body to brush them… Hotch’s hand caught it and pulled it away painfully. Reid looked up and saw Hotch glaring at him, mouth hanging open as he gasped in time with Reid’s strokes.

“Don’t touch them!”

Reid blushed and was about to stammer out an apology when Hotch pushed up into them with a cry.

“Look at us! I want you to look at us… Christ! That makes me want to explode…”

Reid did as he was told, remembering how just _imagining_ Hotch watching him had made him come. Hotch twisted under him and then began to pump his hips erratically. He gasped - his stomach rolling with the effort of catching his breath - and then he pulled Reid’s hips down as he thrust upwards. Reid felt Hotch release across them before he saw it, but he dutifully watched realizing that his imagination paled compared to the actual thing. He clutched Hotch’s body close as he squeezed his eyes shut and came with a sudden punch to the gut, the image of Hotch coming against him tattooed across his eyelids. He moaned as he feebly rode out his thrusts, and thought that he heard Hotch groaning as well. The sound made him push a little harder, last just a little bit longer; that satisfied sound of relief that only fucking could reduce to a single, sustained note. Then he let himself slide down to the floor beside Hotch.

Nearly a minute passed while they just lay there dazed and breathing roughly. Then Hotch rolled to his knees, rising with a grunt. Reid propped himself up against the edge of Hotch’s pallet and watched as the man walked to the sink. He calmly stripped down, wiped himself and then discarded the jumpsuit to his laundry sack. He methodically washed himself, never once looking back at Reid. Something cold and solid settled deep into Reid’s stomach as he watched. He got to his feet but remained quiet, suddenly very unsure of what had just happened. The combined smell of them felt acrid in that moment; the feel of them drying against his skin burned like acid.

Hotch tossed Reid a towel without turning.

“Use this to clean yourself up.”

Reid’s hands obeyed but his mind ran over the interlude to discover where he’d gone wrong. Was it the scars? Should he apologize? He didn’t find them ugly at all - maybe he should tell him that. He found odd things fascinating and sometimes things that he wanted just came out wrong… 

Another, more disturbing thought came to him: was this _shame?_ Hotch claimed to be bisexual but the distance that he was now placing between them felt a lot like repressed disgust. Perhaps Hotch wasn’t as okay with homosexuality as he alleged - and Reid _had_ initiated everything. Reid wiped himself as quickly as he could and did up his jumpsuit trying to figure out the right thing to say. He walked over to Hotch who was still standing naked next to the small sink.

“Hotch, I-”

Hotch took the towel from him and placed it with his ruined jumpsuit in his laundry sack.

“You should probably go. It’ll be lockdown soon.” His voice was calm, his eyes completely unreadable.

As if in sympathy, the five-minute lockdown warning rang out, and Hotch’s eyebrows hitched a little in a _‘See?’_ gesture. Reid gave him a disbelieving stare and tried not to think about the man rolling underneath him, or the feel of his stubble as it burned along his jaw. _This meant something to me_ , he wanted to say but the words died in his throat. Hotch gave him nothing, not even a ‘thanks for the grief fuck’ look, and in that moment Reid had never wanted to hit him more. Instead, he turned on his heel, retrieved the chess set box from the corner of the cell and left without looking back.

Yeah, it hurt like hell. He just hadn’t counted on the hurt happening quite so quickly.


	39. Chapter 39

By the time Reid made it to the cafeteria the next morning, he was livid. This was the second time that Hotch had screwed him over - literally - and he intended to call him out over it. His subconscious hadn’t helped, giving him erotic replays in his dreams that left him frustrated and aching all over when he woke. His bad mood was only heightened by how much his body refused to reject the experience, instead craving more with an escalating appetite that appeared to exist in a judgment-free zone.

Reid scanned the cafeteria and spotted Hotch in line. Almost at the same moment, Hotch turned and stared back with unerring accuracy, as if he’d felt Reid’s eyes on him. Reid’s blackness broke the surface of him and pooled like an oil slick, shimmering and toxic as he glowered at Hotch. He took a few steps forward when Hotch turned in line and slammed his empty food tray into the face of the con behind him without warning. The con’s nose exploded in a bloody rush and he howled at the unprovoked attack as the rest of the line scattered and the guards began to shout. Reid’s breath left him.

_What was that about?_

Reid’s blackness receded as he stood and stared at Hotch blankly. Hotch turned back to Reid with calm eyes and raised one hand in a gesture that could only be interpreted as ‘Wait’. Morgan crashed into Hotch and kicked him to the ground, whipping out his handcuffs to restrain him.

_Wait for what? What the hell was going on?_

“Your man got some anger management issues.”

Reid looked to his left and found Nik-Nik by his shoulder watching the situation unfold with interest.

“What was that all about?”

Reid slid behind his stoic convict disguise, snorting at Nik-Nik as he did so.

“He’s not ‘my man’, and I haven’t got a clue about what he’s up to.”

At least that statement was absolutely true.


	40. Chapter 40

Hotch was gone for two days. Reid assumed that he was in solitary, but he didn’t know for sure. The gang suddenly looked to him for leadership, as if he was the heir apparent, and he did his best. He felt Rollo’s absence in every decision, every time he looked around for reassurance that he was doing the right thing…

In the interim, Gerard had come for him and taken him back to Strauss’s office. The Warden greeted him with cool disinterest - so different from their original meeting - and left him with terse instructions about his duties. The subtext was clear: he was to do what she asked of him and expect nothing in return. The pretense of quid pro quo was over - this was just bald-faced slavery. Reid caught Gerard’s satisfied grin from the corner of his eye and began to plot how he could lure the guard to the showers to be slowly disemboweled. 

_Treat me like an animal and I’ll show you how feral I can be…_

It felt as though things were coming apart. Rollo’s murder had been the catalyst and he suddenly felt alone in the same way he had during his first days in stir. Perhaps it should have always felt this way to him but he had been naïve enough to think that he’d developed a few friends inside. He realized now that his survival depended entirely on his own ability to plan ahead. If he were going to hold onto the gang and try to get free of Strauss’s hold over him, he’d have to start initiating his own moves. So when Nik-Nik sought him out one afternoon in the yard, Reid suddenly felt as if someone had dealt him back into the game again.

“I’ve got somethin’ for you, Doc.”

“Yeah?” Reid closed his eyes and leaned against the wall as he’d seen Hotch do so many times. He soaked up the weak sunshine and waited.

“‘Member what you said? About me payin’ off my debt?”

Reid’s eyes opened and focused on Nik-Nik. The kid looked scared as hell.

“Rizza’s been talkin’ to Strauss. He’s been sniffin’ after you guys since that whole thing with Golem went south. He’s also lookin’ to get into somethin’ with the Mayans - he needs to make up the losses from the gaming rackets you took from him. He figures he’ll just double his slice of the drug trade by takin’ what the Mayans got.”

Reid nodded. The latest figures that Strauss provided showed a marked decrease in demand from the Mayans faction. Either their street dealers were getting edged off their turf or they weren’t pushing the product hard enough. It made sense that Strauss would start looking for other pipeline opportunities, and Rizza was hungry…

“He’s not strong enough to take on the Mayans.”

“No. But if he gets Hotch outta the way and takes you guys…” Nik-Nik paused for effect.

“He’ll have enough manpower to make his move.” Reid finished. “Strauss helps him absorb us and he gets rid of her agitant problem. He makes more money and she moves more product - everyone wins.”

Nik-Nik eyed Reid warily, waiting.

“I appreciate this, Nik-Nik. Now, since you know that we’ll be ready when the Rooks come, I need to know where you’ll stand when this all goes down. I can’t coerce your loyalty - you have to decide for yourself.”

Reid fixed Nik-Nik with a frighteningly forthright stare. The young Rook withstood the scrutiny and spent a long, silent minute contemplating his options. 

“I just wanna survive the best way I can in here.” He said eventually. “You’ve been straight with me, Doc, and Rizza ain’t got the balls to try this without help from Strauss. That don’t work for me. Even if they manage to get rid of Hotch, I think you’re smart and just dangerous enough to come out of the other side of this on top. I’ll make my stand with you.”

Reid’s body went cold at Nik-Nik’s declaration. Hotch was vulnerable now. With Rollo gone, the cons saw him as weakened and weakness wasn’t tolerated. What shocked Reid even more than the belief that Hotch’s days were numbered, was that Nik-Nik assumed that Reid would take control of the gang when Hotch was out of the picture. No one would assume that if they didn’t think him strong enough to fight off the competition, both from within and without. When had that shift in global opinion happened? _Spencer Reid, gang leader…_

“Okay.” Reid nodded. “I need you to keep your ears and eyes open around the Rooks. Let me know when there’s a definite shift in the air.”

“You got it, Boss.” Nik-Nik smirked and then shuffled away.


	41. Chapter 41

Reid made his way towards the security checkpoint to the Admin wing of the prison. Gerard had informed him that he ‘could get his own ass there if he was so smart’ instead of making the guard come and fetch him for his daily office detail. He was lost in thought, considering the implications of his conversation with Nik-Nik, when a set of hands grabbed him and dragged him into a narrow gap formed by the concrete slabs of the wall. There was barely any room to move but Reid made a couple of quick, blind jabs anyway - he wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Doc, it’s me!” Hotch hissed as his fingers dug into Reid’s upper arms.

“Hotch? What the hell is going on? When did you get back?”

“Just now. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“This isn’t a good time… Gerard is waiting to take me to Strauss…”

The gap was small enough that they were pressed against each other and, while Reid wasn’t sure that Hotch had planned this, he resented the implied physical manipulation of the situation. The rejection still stung Reid and he was growing weary of trying to figure out what Hotch wanted. Discovering Hotch’s motivations didn’t seem to be a good use of his energy anymore considering the dual threat presented by Strauss and Rizza. He decided to prioritize and Hotch wasn’t going to make the cut, regardless of how much his body demanded answers and assurances.

“He can wait.” Hotch growled. “I’ve had word from my Federal Prosecutor contact.”

“And?”

“And, he says that if you can supply him with the external drive, and if it contains the details of payments and shipments that you say it does, he can expedite an arrest warrant for Strauss. He’s already drafted a version - he just needs to insert some specifics to indicate the source of probable cause.”

“Okay, well… I guess we’ll have to get a dummy drive to switch out-”

“Doc,” Hotch cut Reid off and released his arms, instead bracing his hands against the wall on either side of Reid’s torso. “There is tremendous risk to you if you decide to go through with this. If Strauss discovers the switch sooner than expected… you know what she’s capable of now. Murder doesn’t faze her.”

Reid breathed out slowly. “What are you saying to me?”

“I’m saying that this is all on you now. I wish to God that it wasn’t. And, I’m also admitting that I can’t protect you from her, Doc…”

Hotch’s voice cracked and he raised a hand as if to touch Reid’s face. At the last second he stopped himself. 

“I can’t compel you to do this.” He continued after clearing his throat. “And there’s a significant part of me that hopes you’ll refuse to accept the risk, no matter what that means for me in the long run.”

Reid’s face creased in confusion. “Hotch, even if this wasn’t the right thing to do - she killed Rollo. He was my friend too, you know…”

“Rollo never really knew what he was getting into!” Hotch’s hands caught Reid’s face. “I never asked for his permission and I’ll have to live with that on my conscience forever. I couldn’t stomach losing you as well. You think that you have a clear view of the board, Doc, but there are things that I’ve hidden… I _wish_ that I could tell you…”

Hotch bowed his head and hid his face, which made Reid’s mouth go dry suddenly. He reached up and grabbed his chin to focus him again.

“You need me to say the words? Fine. I accept the risks, Hotch. Strauss might kill me. She might kill you. But if she tries, I’m going to make it difficult for her. So long as the evidence gets out, I’m okay with that. If dying in the service of doing what’s right lends some meaning to this whole nightmarish adventure,” Reid gestured to the walls around them. “It’ll almost be worth it. It’s certainly more noble than dying in a prison fight or at the tip of a needle, and that’s all I had going for me before all of this began. I can’t deny that I’m doing it for you, Hotch - I am. I know how important it is to you and I don’t _need_ to know all of the reasons why. But I’m also doing it for me, and for Rollo, because we deserve it as well.”

Hotch’s lips closed over his before he had a chance to draw his next breath. His body ignored his brain and pushed back into Hotch, opening up under his mouth and holding them together inside him. Reid was so conflicted about this man that it made his head spin, but every time his body made a decision for him, he couldn’t deny that it felt good all the way down to his core. He _knew_ that Hotch was lying to him, but he also _felt_ a genuine need radiating off Hotch as well. He couldn’t discount the persistent feeling that Hotch was also laying himself open in ways that were frightening and uncharacteristic for him. It was a lot to come to terms with and Reid didn’t really feel that he was up to the challenge. Hotch’s lips moved over his gently, slowly, as if memorizing their topography, and then he broke away with a sigh, burying himself against Reid’s neck as they stood close. 

“Doc, I missed you…” He mumbled into Reid’s skin.

“You’ve only been gone two days…” Reid whispered as his fingers curled around the hands that held his face. “You know that you’re confusing the hell out of me, right?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Hotch’s lips breezed across Reid’s cheek. “Would it help to hear that it’s not on purpose? I never really thought ‘us’ through and I’m sort of winging it…”

“No, that’s not helpful - that’s terrifying, Hotch.”

“Oh. Yes… well… I just find myself needing you and I’m not sure why or how I’m supposed to go about it. The only thing I’m sure of is that it doesn’t have anything to do with any of my plans - mostly because my regard for you irrevocably screws with everything…”

“Pardon me if I’m a bit skeptical about that statement.” Reid arched an eyebrow that was quickly kissed into submission.

Hotch laughed bitterly. “Sure. I can’t expect you to believe me…”

“It’s not for a lack of desire to do so, Hotch.” Reid kissed Hotch quickly and ran a finger along his jaw. “I just need something to believe _in_.”

Hotch nodded slowly and stared.

“I’ve gotta go. Gerard is waiting…”

“Okay.” Hotch backed away as far as he could and allowed Reid to shimmy out of the gap. When Reid made it back into the corridor, Hotch called out. “Be careful. Please.”

Reid stared for a second, bewildered, and then turned back on his path to the security checkpoint.


	42. Chapter 42

Reid expected Hotch to show up at his cell that evening, but he hadn’t expected him to be so hesitant when he did. He lingered in the opening as if waiting for an invitation to enter, which was laughable considering the liberties that he’d already taken without asking. Reid rose from his pallet, put his book aside, and walked to the cell opening with a slip of paper between his fingers. He stopped within arm’s reach of Hotch and casually offered him the note.

“It’s the make and model of the drive.” He whispered.

Hotch looked at the details and then quickly pocketed the paper, his face dark and unreadable. “I’ll get Jenkins on it.”

Reid raised an eyebrow and Hotch smiled.

“He’s a Luddite but there’s no one better at getting the ‘un-getable’. Trust me.”

Reid shrugged and turned back into his cell expecting Hotch to follow. When he didn’t, he looked back with concern.

“Aren’t you up for a game?”

“Not really.” Hotch seemed grim with meaning.

“Well, what if I need a game to relax me?” Reid gestured towards the set chessboard, giving off his own meaning as he did so.

Something seemed to dawn on Hotch, and then he quickly entered sitting himself in his usual spot.

“You start.” Reid said.

They played in silence for a few minutes, lost in their gambits, until Hotch shifted in his seat a little.

“Would you tell me about your partner’s murder?”

Reid was startled. “Why?”

“I need background in order to give my lawyer friend a place to start investigating.” Hotch’s eyes held Reid carefully as he moved his knight across the board.

“What do you want to know?” Reid swallowed hard.

“Whatever you want to tell me.”

“Well… Elle was my first partner out of the academy. We worked together for five years. She didn’t like White Collar Crime but I think she stayed because of me - I enjoyed it. It was… comforting to me.”

“Did you ever ask her out or have an inappropriate relationship with her?”

“No. I’ve known I was gay since I was eight years old.” Hotch’s silence brought Reid’s eyes up from the board. “You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t expecting that level of certainty.”

“Just because I was sure, doesn’t mean that I was confident. I don’t know if Elle even suspected… I never discussed my sexuality and I didn’t date enough to make it obvious.”

“But still… you two were close.”

“Yeah,” Reid smiled. “She was like a sister - a really cool, kick-ass sister. It would never have happened considering my family’s DNA, but it was nice to daydream about it.”

“Tell me about her personal life.”

“In a word it was ‘questionable’. She had a strong, independent personality, but she also craved male attention and had this fantasy about meeting the right guy who’d look after her. The dichotomy used to drive me nuts.”

“Did she ever have any conflicts with boyfriends? Any physical altercations?”

“Not that I know of. But she could get tunnel vision about things - she was driven. It made her a good agent but I imagine that it was harder to work with personally.”

“Okay.” Hotch seemed to be ticking off boxes in his mind. “Tell me about Adam Sanchez.”

“A typical FBI sample. Aggressive, political, results-driven, confident… if you looked up ‘assistant director of the FBI’ in the dictionary, he’d fit the definition to a T.”

“Did they work together?”

“Briefly, on an anti-corruption task force. It was obvious that she was taken with him right away, although I don’t know who pursued whom. She knew he was married, but it didn’t seem to matter. Initially, I was happy for her - he seemed to make her glow from within - but I also warned her about the impropriety of it. Agents and directors don’t mingle. There are rules about that.”

“When did things change?”

“About six months into the relationship, Elle became more vocal about her dissatisfaction with their progress as a couple. Adam had just gone on vacation to Montauk with his family and she thought that they would spend that time alone together instead. She started talking about giving Adam ultimatums.”

“What did you say?”

“I was worried about how it would affect our careers - threatening an A.D. like that. But also, I’d heard rumors of other affairs he’d had - and how they ended. I begged her to reconsider.”

“Did you ever discuss the relationship via email or letters? Something that could be documented?”

“No.” Reid mumbled. “It was private.”

Hotch sighed and leaned back, the chess game forgotten before him. “Tell me about the murder itself.”

Reid looked up, haunted, his lips tightening against the words.

“Please.” Hotch whispered. “I know it’s difficult.”

“I was working late.” Reid cleared his throat and picked a spot on the wall to confess to. “My cell phone rang - it was Elle’s number. When I picked up, it was just an open line. I heard… muffled noises, thumping, some crashing as if someone was knocking over furniture. Then I heard laboured breathing and more crashing. There was this… sickening, wet gasping sound that I couldn’t place, and that’s when I heard it.”

“Heard what?”

“My name. Elle called out my name…” Reid’s voice trailed off, but Hotch didn’t prompt him with another question. He just waited. “I took a chance and drove to her apartment. I had a key… I remember unlocking the door…”

Reid gasped suddenly. “There was so much blood…”

“Doc…”

“I’ve been to crime scenes, ya know? Not a lot - there aren’t many murders associated with White Collar Crime - but I thought that I was sorta acclimatized. I tried to pick her up, to get her out of the blood… her eyes rolled back into her head… the body had already started to cool… the blood was _sticky_ …”

“Doc…” Reid felt Hotch’s hand on his arm.

“The police found me there, holding her… I don’t know who called them… I was covered in her blood, the knife on the floor beside me, my cell phone still open receiving the call that she never ended…”

Reid felt Hotch pull him upright and against him. The warmth of his body zapped up the length of him from waist to shoulders as he felt arms close around him.

“Stupid… she was so _stupid_ … my beautiful, driven, naïve sister…” He choked into Hotch’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Doc.”

Reid squeezed Hotch back. _Hard._ He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to let Elle out… how much of a relief it would be to tell someone who didn’t automatically look on him as a killer. Now someone else knew. Someone else believed him. He curled his fingers into Hotch’s jumpsuit wanting to wrap himself inside this understanding, to be protected and sheltered from the world’s judgment. 

“I’m going to get you out of this, Doc.” Hotch’s voice sounded thick against Reid’s shoulder.

“Don’t make promises that you can’t possibly keep, Hotch.”

“Who says I can’t keep them?” He answered roughly, pulling back to face Reid. “You put yourself in front of a blade for me once - I’m going to save your damned life if it’s the last thing I do.”

“What? What blade?”

“You were hallucinating, but it still counts. I think you thought that Elle was trying to kill me.”

Reid sighed. “She probably would’ve hated you.”

“I get that a lot. I’m inflexible and arrogant.”

“It’s not that.” Reid looked at him. “She’d hate you because you are more important to me than she was.”

Hotch just stared. “I don’t understand how you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Let yourself admit to such… an intimate vulnerability… after everything I’ve done.”

“Don’t mistake the admission for forgiveness. There’s still a lot of anger in me for you, Hotch.” 

Reid thought about the blackness that took him over in random moments. He couldn’t control it and that scared him. He had never thought himself capable of killing until he came to this place - until Hotch had given him the tools and showed him how. But Reid also felt how his body leaned into Hotch’s, how the embrace warmed him. It would be useless to deny the attraction, almost as strong and elemental as his anger. 

“But I think it’s obvious that that’s not the only way I feel. It’s frustrating and I feel compromised that I can’t better protect myself from you. I want to hide this part of me away - like Rollo always told me I should.”

Hotch leaned in and gently kissed the edge of Reid’s mouth. He hovered over Reid’s lips and waited for a response. When Reid moved, seeking out Hotch’s mouth and drawing him back to him, Hotch’s whole body responded. His arms pulled Reid tightly against him, as if he was trying to fold Reid into his body, and made a small noise of contentment that electrified Reid down to his toes. Their lips moved against each other slowly, in long pulls and sudden breaks of shared breath. If they had been anywhere else - if there wasn’t the frantic drive to survive hanging over them constantly - it might have been the perfect beginning: a kiss that said _you are different from the others - I have chosen you for a reason._

Hotch pulled away first. “I wish that I could separate this need out from the rest. So that I could put it aside and show you that it doesn’t rely on my vendetta against Strauss or the drive to maintain the gang in order to survive. It has its own life. No matter what happens, Doc, tell me that you’ll try to remember that.”

Reid nodded slowly although he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to.

“I just… _need_ you.”

Hotch’s statement sounded painful, as if it was ripped from him. Reid wanted to ask him about his fear - the man was clearly terrified of something and only a few short weeks ago Reid would’ve found the idea of Hotch being afraid of anything impossible. But the moment was lost when one of Hotch’s hands snaked up to grip the back of Reid’s neck and pull him back for a much rougher kiss. It was Reid’s turn to make a contented sigh and Hotch’s response was immediate and enthusiastic. Hotch pushed into Reid’s mouth and at the same time maneuvered them away from Reid’s pallet and up against the cell wall instead. His other hand slipped to Reid’s lower back and yanked their hips together as his chest continued to push Reid against the wall. Reid grunted in surprise as he felt Hotch hardening against him, but his thought process started to shut down as Hotch roughly sucked his tongue. After the rebuff in Hotch’s cell Reid wasn’t clear about Hotch’s intentions. The rejection had felt like shame, but everything that had happened since seemed to counteract it. Hotch pushed into him again, making his arousal obvious, and Reid moaned a little in relief. Whatever Hotch’s issue was, it wasn’t same-sex denial, and Reid’s body thrilled at this realization. There was something else going on with Hotch, but whatever that might be, the attraction was genuine.

Hotch’s hand left Reid’s back and quickly ripped a few snaps open at the waist of Reid’s jumpsuit. Faster than Reid could twitch, Hotch’s hand had wrestled through layers of clothing and held Reid firmly. Reid gasped out loud and Hotch went very still against his body.

“May I?” He whispered after a moment.

The question almost made Reid guffaw. What was he going to say? _No, please remove your hand from my erection - I’d really much prefer to ignore the erotic images in my head and get back to my book, if you don’t mind…_

He went with: “Is that a serious question?”

“Despite evidence to the contrary,” Hotch scored his teeth along the underside of Reid’s jaw. “I have excellent manners. Although sometimes it takes a while for them to catch up with my intent.”

Hotch’s lips made it to Reid’s pulse point on his throat and he sucked it slowly producing an undignified moan from Reid in the process.

“I need your permission, Doc. It’s a rule that I’ve set for myself.”

“P-permission to do what?” Reid was having difficulty breathing with Hotch’s hand on his cock and his lips at his throat.

“Well… presently, I’d like to suck you off…”

Reid choked. “Permission granted.”

He felt Hotch’s grin against his throat just before the man dropped to his knees in front of him. Reid quickly looked around, concerned that they could be seen by other cons through the open, barred wall that made the front of each cell. He wasn’t really an exhibitionist.

“Relax. Everyone assumes that we’ve been doing this from the beginning. Most will ignore it or don’t give a damn.”

Reid was about to debate Hotch’s contention when Hotch took him in his mouth and everything else dimmed to insignificance. Hotch moved slowly to begin with, stroking with care as his tongue ran along the underside of Reid’s cock. Every third or fourth pull, Reid felt himself hit the back of Hotch’s throat and it sent a spike of energy through his pelvis each time.

“Fuuuuuck…” was all he could manage, which didn’t exactly make him proud.

Hotch chuckled and the vibrations thrummed through Reid like a tuning fork. He twitched in Hotch’s mouth and his balls tightened, and he suddenly thought that _next time_ he’d give permission with the proviso ‘no chuckling’. It all felt far too good and he hadn’t had to control himself for anyone in quite a while; he was certain that he was going to come too rapidly and in the most unseemly fashion possible.

Hotch began to stroke faster and Reid let his hand slip into Hotch’s short, dark hair as his hips started to move on their own in rhythm. All the blood in Reid’s body was rushing towards where it was needed and he felt lightheaded at the same moment that his knees decided to take a vacation. His other hand dug into the mortar of the wall at his back as he tried to pinion his body by pressing his shoulders hard into the brickwork while his hips continued gravitating towards Hotch. Reid felt Hotch’s tongue flick over his head on a backstroke and he bit down on his lip until he tasted blood in order to stop himself from coming right then and there. The desire pooled in him, trying to bleed itself off in shakes and spurts that he only half held in check.

“Hotch…” he breathed because he didn’t know what else to do.

A hand landed against his abdomen and callused fingertips started to trace a tickling path from his belly button downwards. They curled and circled as they traveled down to his cock and back up again, losing themselves occasionally in skin that fluttered against their touch. Reid heard Hotch’s lips slip and suck him harder as he stepped up his pace; his fingers suddenly buried themselves in the hair at the base of Reid’s cock and pulled ever so slightly. Reid swore loudly and then jumped as the five-minute lockdown alarm sounded. He swore again and below him Hotch growled a little.

“Wait… wait-”

Hotch picked up speed and began to moan as he worked, sending shivers up and down Reid’s spine. Reid was now hitting the back of Hotch’s throat on every second pass and he was losing control only half-containing the energy that was leaking through in bursts. 

“Hotch, wait…”

He felt fingers press through the jumpsuit fabric behind him. They traced his ass and then moved down, pressure increasing as they reached the area behind his balls. He felt his thighs tense and his balls tighten. The unseen fingers repeated the motion but this time pressed into the sensitive area at the exact moment that Hotch’s tongue swirled over Reid’s cock on a particularly forceful down stroke. Hotch’s other hand spread out along Reid’s abdomen spreading warmth and pressure straight to the spot where Reid had managed to keep his arousal at bay, and his hips shot forward without warning. He pumped a few times and then felt Hotch’s hand cup his balls. He tightened everywhere, his mouth open in an attempt to release the tension, and then did, as Hotch swallowed around him. Reid released and gasped, released and gasped, until his hips stopped jerking and he was in real danger of collapsing on top of Hotch. He tried to anchor himself with a fierce grip on the brickwork behind him, but Hotch had to straighten and press him back into the wall until he could hold himself up. Reid felt a little useless and completely non-verbal as Hotch took in his glassy stare and kissed him.

“I’m sorry to leave you like this - especially since I find it so flattering,” Hotch grinned at him. “But I’ve got to get back to my tier before lockdown.”

“Hotch…” Reid breathed and reached out for his waist, drawing them together again. He could feel Hotch digging hard into his thigh.

“Another time, I promise.” Hotch whispered before kissing him again. Then he jogged to the cell door and down the tier looking around him as he went.

Reid was still leaning against the wall when the cell doors slid closed for the night and the tiers were dropped into darkness. For a long time afterwards, he couldn’t do much more than concentrate on the wall at his back and the way his knees threatened to give out when Hotch had promised ‘another time’.


	43. Chapter 43

Despite the life-and-death drama playing itself privately for Reid, prison life, to all outward appearances, carried on in the same sullen pace that it always had. Each day was an ordered line of meals, counts, visits to Strauss’s office, yard time, and gang business. His only reprieve were the evenings spent with Hotch playing chess, speaking in hushed tones, and, sometimes, waiting for the way he said Reid’s name when no one else could hear him. As much as Reid wanted to wholeheartedly give in to what was developing between them, he couldn’t escape the knowledge that it was all tainted by their need to survive. Half of their conversations were about their plans to take Strauss down or to fend off a perceived threat from another gang - the understanding that their days might be numbered was the tightrope that they walked together. Reid didn’t know if their attraction was anything more than a profound desire to stay alive.

Reid waited for Jenkins to come through with the replacement external drive so that he could move forward to whatever the next stage held for them. He hadn’t thought much beyond Strauss’s possible arrest, but when he did, it only brought up troubling questions. Reid had never asked how long Hotch’s sentence was, but it obviously wasn’t life. Even if they managed to pull off their plan, and they both made it out alive, _and_ their relationship didn’t evaporate the moment that the threat to their lives did, eventually, Hotch would leave. And Reid would stay. Forever. In spite of Hotch’s repeated assertions that his lawyer friend would get the conviction overturned, Reid did not really believe that he would ever leave prison. The truth was that Hotch hadn’t given him hope so much as _become_ his hope, and when the day came for him to leave, Reid was scared of what he might do. His arms started to itch again when he thought about it too hard.

So Reid bargained with his soul a little and slid behind the mask of unhinged fearlessness that he and Hotch had crafted together more and more. He saw how the other gangs reacted to Rollo’s murder by shifting their hungry gazes to Hotch, and then he saw how they looked at him, and hesitated. Reid actually welcomed the darkness rolling in his core then, if it pushed the opponents back into their corners for the time being. It wouldn’t last forever, not without further proof of his fervor, but if he could use it long enough to protect Hotch and get him what he wanted, that was all he needed. 

He hadn’t told Hotch about Nik-Nik’s intel, and he wasn’t sure why. The idea that Hotch was too fragile to deal with this new threat was ridiculous, and yet Reid felt that keeping the information from Hotch made him safer somehow. He didn’t realize how his deception could hurt Hotch until Strauss tried to bribe him into inaction at the end of one of his office work periods.

“Sources tell me that you and Hotch remain close despite my previous warnings to stay away from him.” She perched herself on the edge of his desk, a well-practiced look of concern on her face.

“He found me on The Row. He brought me back and sobered me up. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him - I owe him something.”

Strauss hadn’t initiated one of their heart-to-hearts since he’d told her that he wanted out of their scheme. Reid found her tact and timing in this conversation to be extremely transparent and wondered how she intended to make him give up Hotch.

“He didn’t save you, and he can’t protect you the way I can.”

“Funny… I don’t recall seeing you down on The Row, ma’am…” Clearly, Strauss didn’t see the hypocrisy of seeking to destroy the man who enabled her to continue using Reid. 

Strauss looked a little uncomfortable as she smoothed her hair with her hand and continued. “Yes, I should have been more sensitive to your needs, Doctor. An oversight that I plan to rectify immediately…”

She produced a small bottle of clear liquid and pushed it across the desk to him. Reid froze in his chair and stared at it; even if he couldn’t read the label, he’d know a bottle of Dilaudid anywhere.

“There’s plenty more where that came from - and you won’t find it on The Row either.” She slipped Reid a thin, knowing smile. “I take care of my people, Doctor. You don’t _need_ Hotch’s protection so long as I am around. And considering Hotch’s perilous new reality, I don’t believe that he’s in any position to realistically offer you safe harbour.”

Reid tore his eyes away from the bottle for an instant.

“He’s vulnerable now.” Strauss said gently, as if his downfall were inevitable. “And vulnerability isn’t tolerated for long in here. It’s just a matter of time before things change, and I don’t want you to get hurt during that process. Put some distance between you two - for your own safety.”

Strauss smiled and tapped the surface of his desk, bringing his gaze back to the bottle arms-length away.

“You’re important to me, Doctor, and I’ll do whatever I can for you. As always.”

Reid didn’t notice when she rose from his desk, didn’t feel her hand on his shoulder, or hear her exit the office. He only saw the bottle and felt the hot, phantom sting light up his inner arms. He had no idea how long he sat there and stared, the only thing that he knew was that when he snatched up the bottle and furtively looked around, he was completely alone.


	44. Chapter 44

Reid’s hand was slick with sweat as he clutched the tiny bottle hard enough to leave an imprint on his palm. He stood at the entrance to the yard searching for Hotch, but not really taking anything in. The desire to find a needle and shoot up was roaring inside him, so much so that he was panting from the effort it took to stand still.

“Doc.” 

Hotch’s voice made Reid jump and clutch the bottle close to his chest. The smile on Hotch’s face dissolved immediately as he took in Reid’s twitchy, wide-eyed state, but it wasn’t fast enough to distract Reid from the purple bruise swelling up along Hotch’s cheekbone.

“What happened?” Reid breathed.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m serious, Hotch. It was her, wasn’t it? She all but threatened you in her office just now…”

Reid reached out with his empty hand and then stopped as a beautifully simple, black thought broke the surface of his addled mind. He curled his hand into a fist and closed his eyes tightly as he tried to turn the thought into action before reason could stop him.

“Why are we even bothering with evidence? I should just kill her. She wouldn’t even suspect me… she wanders around within arms reach all the time. Gerard doesn’t even stand guard in the room half the time-”

“Doc, look at me.” Hotch was quiet, but it was a command nonetheless. “Take a couple of deep breaths for me…”

Reid did as he was told and then started to shake in a way that was hard to control as the blackness receded again. Hotch never took his eyes off him.

“It wasn’t her - it was just some Mayan who thought he’d try his luck, that’s all. The first hit was free.” Hotch pointed towards his cheek. “But he regretted the effort, trust me.”

Reid tried to slow his heart rate and control his breathing. He wanted to run, to kill, to get high, to fuck - he’d never felt so completely out of control in his whole life. He felt frayed and splintered as the knot that held him together began to unravel. _No one should have to live like this_ , he thought, _we’re built to stand on two legs, so why am I always negotiating from my knees?_

“I can take care of myself, Doc, but you’ve been putting yourself between me and the rest of stir for a while now. You know something that you’re not telling me…”

Hotch’s voice brought him back to reality and he tried to organize his impulses into words rather than the howling confusion rolling in his gut. “Nik-Nik came to me and said that Rizza wants to remove you and take over the crew. Then, he wants to go to war with the Mayans so that he can annex their drug trade for himself. Strauss is backing him.”

“Of course she is…” Hotch sighed.

“She sees you as weakened now that Rollo’s gone… everyone does. But… somehow, people seem unwilling to step forward if… I’m in the way.” Reid raised his clasped hand to his chest and curled into it. He felt desperate now that the calm clarity of the blackness was gone, and panic settled across his face without his permission.

“Doc…” Hotch reached out for him, but Reid stopped him when he shoved his shaking hand out in front of him and slowly revealed the bottle.

“Even Strauss wants me out of the picture… so that someone can get to you…”

“What is that?”

“It’s Dilaudid. Five times more potent than heroin…” He was shaking all over now. “It’s my drug of choice. She told me that I could have as much as I wanted if I just got out of the way.”

Hotch stared at the bottle as if it were a primed explosive. It was plain on his face that he was warring between snatching it from Reid’s hand, and waiting to see how the situation would play itself out. Reid suddenly stepped forward, pushing the bottle into Hotch’s chest and placing one of Hotch’s hands over it with a painful grunt.

“Take it.” He couldn’t take his eyes off their overlapped hands. “I want to shoot up so badly… I just want all of this to _stop_. But I won’t get out of the way…”

Hotch’s other hand rose slowly and wormed its way between his chest and Reid’s fist. He gently pried Reid’s fingers open and scooped the bottle into his own grip. His other hand squeezed Reid’s where it still pressed against him.

“You matter, Doc.” Hotch breathed after a long moment. “Do you hear me? You really matter.”

Reid looked up, confused and with his vision blurring through tears of need.

“From the moment that we first spoke - and you fought against everything that I told you - you’ve meant something to me. Men like you are rare these days.” Hotch took a deep breath and then raised the fist that held the Dilaudid. “But no matter what we’ve been through, _I_ never thought that I’d matter to you more than this.”

Reid’s fingers dug into the fabric of Hotch’s jumpsuit a little, like tiny anchors that would keep his psyche in place.

“I don’t… I don’t feel rare. Or good.” His breath was shaky. “I just feel monstrous.”

Hotch took a step forward, still holding Reid’s hand to his chest. He stared at Reid silently as a volatile parade of emotions marched across his face. Reid saw pain there, and guilt, as well as pride, and a depth of connection that left him momentarily breathless. He wanted to believe that he was worth _that_ , but more importantly, he discovered that he wanted Hotch to believe it too.

“I was raised by monsters. I’ve spent my whole life around them, Doc.” Hotch was close enough to Reid that he could feel the heat of him against his face as he leaned forward. “So, you should believe me when I say that - without a doubt - you aren’t one.”

Reid sighed and closed his eyes. He let himself be lost in the warmth that Hotch radiated around them, to pretend that Hotch was the sun burning away Reid’s flaws until there was nothing left but the man he used to be, dozing in idle contentment. He felt Hotch’s lips brush his forehead, then his temple, and then skim along his cheekbone, outlining it with breath.

“I know you’re tired, Doc.” Hotch whispered. “I know that I’ve asked so much of you already. But I need you - I need my guy, here, by my side. As tough as I can be, I won’t make it without you.”

Reid opened his eyes then. Hotch watched him patiently for a reaction, his face free from its usual disguises, brows drawn, lips parted in a wordless question… Reid swallowed hard at the sight.

“That’s what I meant” Hotch spoke again when it was clear that Reid couldn’t. “When I said that you mattered… to me.”

Reid had to try a few times before he could make his throat work again. He licked his lips and shook his head a little as he attempted to clear the cobwebs; he had to buttress himself. He was _needed_.

“I’m yours.” He said quietly. “Whatever it takes… however long it takes, Hotch. I won’t abandon you.”

He dipped his head into Hotch’s neck and quickly left a kiss there before pushing past him and heading back toward the cell block. His hand slipped against Hotch’s feeling every rough callus as Hotch’s fingers traced over his before they let him go. He wanted to remember that sensation forever: the electric feeling of being precious to someone, even if he wasn’t entirely convinced that it was the truth. The feeling was still so novel and strange that he just wanted to go back to his cell and replay it over and over in his mind.


	45. Chapter 45

Reid spent most of the evening alone, reading in his cell. More than once he thought about going to find Hotch, but he always stopped himself. Perhaps their intimate moment had made them both a bit circumspect; this was hardly the time or place to make more out of their relationship than they already had. This wasn’t a love story, he told himself firmly. This was a crime caper, or a tale of revenge, or a didactic litany of woe meant to warn others away from the pitfalls that he had leapt so gleefully into. It was definitely not a story of boy meets boy, boy saves boy, boy loves boy until the end of his days. That sort of thing didn’t happen in prison.

But when he heard _that voice_ call his name from the cell doorway, he couldn’t stop all of the storybook hopes from rushing back into his chest. It was just further proof that hope didn’t listen to reason. In fact, he believed that everything south of his neck was completely irrational.

“Hi.” Hotch smiled from the doorway.

“Come in.” Reid gestured, remembering Hotch’s need for permission. “You’re late tonight. There’s barely enough time for a game before the lockdown alarm goes…”

“I’m not here for chess.” Hotch’s smile dimmed a little as he took a few steps into the cell and then watched Reid intently.

Reid breathed out slowly and placed the chess set back onto the upturned book crate where he kept it. He turned to face Hotch, taking in his mood and his stance as his eyes flicked over him. _This is not a love story, this is not a love story, this is not a love story…_ , he told himself over and over.

“What about the lockdown count? Someone will notice…” He said after he made his appraisal. 

“It’s been taken care of.” Hotch murmured. “This sort of thing happens from time to time. No one really cares _where_ we are for the evening so long as we’re all inside the fence.”

Reid took another deep breath. “Are you sure?”

“After this afternoon? Yes… God, yes.” Hotch strode forward and then pulled up six inches from Reid. “But you have to say it, Doc. I need the words…”

The five-minute lockdown warning sounded, echoing across the Gen Pop tiers and then disappearing into the background noise of hundreds of men settling for the evening. Reid waited for the echo to die out completely and then nodded his head.

“Stay.”

Hotch reached out with both hands and reverently pulled Reid to him. His thumbs stroked the edge of Reid’s jaw as they kissed. Reid tried to breathe as the sensation of being wanted exploded in his chest and bloomed out to his furthest edges. He remembered his hand against Hotch’s chest that afternoon, and the feeling of another callused hand pressing into it, trying to hold him there - trying to communicate a monumental emotion with only the warmth of fingertips. And then he had a sense of vertigo; free falling into a chasm too dark to give him any perspective - giving him no hint of when he’d hit bottom. His hands reached out blindly to claim fistfuls of Hotch’s jumpsuit, to stop his fall, but then his mouth opened under Hotch’s, inviting him in with a whimper, and then they were falling together. 

They moved against each other, trying to speak with mute bodies instead of the words that they both needed to hear, until the cell doors slid closed with a sense of inevitability that made them jump. The lights went out and they stood together, tangled and blinking against the sudden darkness in shock. Reid felt breath across his cheek and then the pressure of Hotch as he leaned their foreheads together. It felt like a question, but Reid didn’t understand. It seemed as if Hotch was constantly communicating in signs and gestures that he was unable to decipher. 

“Just tell me what you are trying so hard to hold back…” He whispered in frustration. “Please.”

Hotch pressed into his mouth so viciously then that Reid growled in a mumbled warning. He consumed greedily as if Reid were the only thing left that could keep him alive. Their teeth and lips crashed, fighting against each other’s confusion, until they could no longer breathe. They broke apart as suddenly as they’d started, swaying with stalled want, gripping each other until their hands ached. 

“I’m fighting my need to tell you everything.” Hotch’s whisper sent electricity zapping down Reid’s spine. “I want to, but I just… can’t.”

“You don’t trust me-”

“Stop!” Hotch hissed in the dark and then wrenched Reid’s face to look at him. “You’re the only person that I’ve _ever_ trusted. Given that I’m in the middle of my life, perhaps you can appreciate how significant that makes you. But… I can’t tell you _this_.”

Hotch pulled him in again slowly. Reid felt lips on his forehead; a martyr receiving a pilgrim’s kiss.

“It breaks my heart to love you this way, Doc.” His voice broke. “I’m begging you to remember that… Falling like this - it wasn’t part of my plan.”

“Falling?” Reid whispered and then shook his head. He pushed against Hotch’s shoulders until he could clearly focus on his features in the dimness of the cell. “What do you really want, Hotch? Be honest with me.”

“In a perfect world, just you.”

“And in an imperfect one?”

“Strauss.” Hotch’s voice was tight, controlled. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but getting her is the only way that I can get clear of this mess. Once I do, then there’s nothing keeping me from you. That’s the truth, Doc. I need to finish this so that I can finally have you.”

Reid’s heart sank a little; that was what the jaded side of him had expected to hear. But the bruised and battered part of him that lived on a starvation diet of hope throbbed with renewed strength. Stupid hope…

“You can have me now.” He wasn’t sure if he’d said it aloud or just thought the words.

“Can I?” Hotch’s gasp breezed across his cheekbone. 

Reid took a step back and then calmly, slowly stripped. When he finished, he looked up and tried not to squirm under Hotch’s gaze. He was still getting used to this new body: one that was still painfully thin and awkward, but now also possessed muscle definition and the knowledge of how to use it. It didn’t feel like the body that he’d always lived in, but then again, when people looked at him and decided _not_ to act against him, he felt that it was the form that he’d always wanted. 

Hotch didn’t move and a shiver of doubt sliced across Reid. He huffed and mentally shook it off. _Physical insecurity at this point is a step backwards_ , he thought, as he moved forward and began to unsnap Hotch’s jumpsuit. As he brushed Hotch’s clothes down his body, he felt fingers wrap around his wrist and pull him away from the scars that he could not see. Reid mumbled something that might have been a curse if it were clearer and then stepped into Hotch’s chest.

“Listen, there’s something that you have to understand if we’re going to do this.” Reid pried his wrist free. “I am very familiar with being worried about scrutiny. I know what it’s like to want to hide part of yourself away.”

An image flashed in his mind of him holding the bottle of Dilaudid out to Hotch. Hands shaking, veins along his arms rising as his body temperature increased in anticipation, eyes riveted to the thing that he so desperately wanted to keep for himself… Yes, he understood scars.

“But you have to understand that I don’t _need_ to know how you got these scars… and also that I won’t pretend that they aren’t there. I’m taking you on, Hotch - all of you. The scars are just a part of the whole, like the cowlick in your hair or the lines around your mouth. It is pointless for you to hide them because, no matter what they symbolize to you, they are just a part of you to me - they don’t have any meaning for me beyond that. I refuse to take on your hang-ups in order to be with you. I have enough of my own as it is.”

There was a moment of stillness and then Reid saw the silhouette of Hotch slouch a little. He breathed out roughly and then Reid felt the man’s hands wrap tightly around his back.

“Even now, you’re still confronting me. For someone who claims that he doesn’t know how to fight, you sure pursue things with the dogged tenacity of a barroom brawler…” His lips landed over Reid’s before he could respond, and moved in slow slips and pulls, leaving Reid tingling when they broke apart. “You have no idea how much that makes me want you.”

“I’m just calling you on your crap.” Reid smiled and slipped his tongue into Hotch, eliciting a moan that made further conversation pointless.

Reid pushed them back towards his pallet and when the frame hit the back of Hotch’s legs, he crumpled down on it with a groan of old springs and a slightly startled look on his face. Reid climbed over him, waiting for him to stretch out along the mattress’s length and then sank into his warmth as Hotch’s hands wrapped around his back again. The ancient frame complained under their weight and the way that they moved against each other. But they were lost in feeling out new territory with hands and mouths and skin only bared for a few. 

Hotch’s hand pressed down along the small of Reid’s back, pushing them closer together. It took a few moments to sort their thighs out along the mattress, but then Reid sighed as he made contact with Hotch from knees to chest. He began to move slowly, allowing his weight to settle into the peaks and hollows of Hotch as his lips skimmed down Hotch’s neck. He reached his shoulder - there was something _about_ Hotch’s shoulders… and he sank his teeth into muscle as it tensed under his lips. Hotch groaned and arched his hips up as a hand cupped the back of Reid’s head and pushed him closer.

“Doc…”

“Too much?” Reid released his grip with a soft pop as he moved further along the ridge to find another target. His hips ground into Hotch just a fraction harder.

“No. I didn’t… I didn’t think…” He gasped as Reid sunk his teeth into a new spot. “You’d be this… forthright…”

“I just want to feel.” Reid propped his weight onto one elbow as his other hand skimmed between their bodies and brushed along Hotch’s scarred abdomen. He brushed the head of Hotch’s cock accidentally and shivered as his whole body pulsed with an ache that settled itself just behind his balls. “I’ll worry about what it all means later. Hold me tighter… I want to see where your fingers have been tomorrow…”

Hotch’s hands cranked down around Reid so suddenly that he yelped. Hotch caught his mouth and buried himself in it, pulling Reid down deeper while his hips kept pushing up. Their bodies moved in waves over each other trying to find the perfect rhythm. The bed springs creaked in time with them almost drowning out the soft sounds of skin on skin, grasping, stroking, holding… Hotch’s hand on Reid’s back moved lower. He felt a finger outline him and it made him break away from Hotch. They were both breathing hard now, perhaps both aware of the need to be quiet, but not realizing how their breath had become a conversation. 

_There? Yes more please just like that feels so good don’t stop do that again I didn’t know want this want you so much I crave why? stop asking let me adore you let this be real and I’ll never ask for anything else…_

Reid pressed his forehead into Hotch’s chest and moved one hand to guide his finger. He gasped loudly when Hotch’s finger entered him and then moved his other hand to outline Hotch’s cock between them. Hotch breathed roughly as he twitched at the touch; his hand fell into Reid’s hair and pulled. Reid began to rock back against Hotch’s finger and marveled at how such an awkward sensation could feel so wanted at the same time. It had been a long time for him and the discomfort curled his edges like burnt paper. But the body has a long memory and so his hips lengthened the strokes and his fingers clamped around Hotch’s wrist, increasing the want blindly. He brushed his lips against Hotch’s chest and silently asked for more.

“How do you w-want…” Hotch’s question devolved into groan as Reid’s hand wrapped around him tightly and _pulled_.

“Tell me what you want.” Reid breathed, arching back into Hotch’s grip.

“Want to be in you…”

Reid nodded against Hotch’s chest and then let out a small cry as Hotch inserted another finger and pulsed. He squeezed down along Hotch’s length in vengeance and then felt himself tighten and throb once again at the helpless sound that Hotch made in response. Hotch arched under Reid, exposing his neck and straining his chest in a way that begged to be molested. Reid abandoned his grip and let the press and rhythm of his body tease Hotch as he curved his arms beneath the man’s back to bring them as close as they could manage. He dropped his lips against Hotch’s neck and sucked in fits and starts between the stroking and the moaning.

Reid could feel Hotch starting to lose it beneath him; he was tight and hard everywhere, digging into Reid like a mountainside against the horizon. Hotch’s hands held onto Reid desperately, rocking them both as if it would ease the ache, before he blindly reached out for his clothes on the floor. Reid was bewildered for an instant as Hotch continued to struggle, and then suddenly he was back, biting the underside of Reid’s jaw and drawing his mouth back to him.

“Lift yourself up.” Hotch whispered, and Reid obeyed.

There was a tiny snapping sound and then Hotch groaned. A moment later, Hotch’s hand directed Reid back to his slick cock. They rubbed together experimentally, hand over hand, and then Hotch looked up at him.

“Okay?” He breathed.

“Okay.”

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“It’ll hurt anyway.” Reid murmured, not sure if he was just talking about sex. “But it’s not like I don’t know what it feels like. Lie back…”

Hotch’s objection was choked off when Reid slowly and carefully slid down onto him. Hotch rose up, a hand quickly clasping around Reid’s back that held them still for a full minute. Hotch’s breath felt shallow against Reid’s shoulder, trying with everything he had to do what he thought he had to in that moment. Reid felt every inch of himself come alive with sensation, and felt every inch of Hotch around him. Pressure, pain, excitement, anticipation all coiled in the pit of his stomach waiting to be mixed into some volatile concoction. In the end, it was so much _feeling_ that Reid needed to move or he’d explode from the overload of it. He wrapped his own arm around Hotch’s shoulders, holding him close, and began to move. Hotch’s breath increased to stuttered bursts against him.

“Doc…”

Reid felt his cock harden immeasurably as Hotch moved inside him. It was more than just stimulation; somehow knowing it was _Hotch_ pushed him beyond arousal and into another state. Hotch’s scars brushed against him as they thrust together, and it seemed if it was more than Reid could take. _This is what he feels like. THIS is what I wanted. Remember when I was afraid of what he’d do to me?_ Then Hotch’s hand was around his cock, warm and rough and uncontrolled.

“Need you.” Hotch gasped into Reid’s mouth as he thrust harder. “Not just now… not just like this…”

Reid squeezed his eyes shut and pulled away from Hotch’s mouth. Hotch continued, getting rougher and more urgent with each stroke. Reid’s hand dropped to the arm Hotch used to support them and felt the muscles ripple as they strained, up and down, up and down… Heat flashed over the surface of him and then banked itself again as the pressure intensified. And it hurt - his skin felt too tight all over as his body seemed to expand in order to contain everything he felt. Another flash of heat hit him like a blow to the head and he cried out before sinking his teeth into Hotch’s neck until he tasted blood. It didn’t slow Hotch down, didn’t cause him to pause. Instead he moved faster and his hand moved unmercifully along Reid’s cock. Reid strained, trying to back away from the intensity that he was facing on two fronts, and then felt a split second of relief, but it wasn’t enough. Wetness smeared across their stomachs as they continued to move together.

Hotch released his cock and instead dug his fingers into Reid’s hip, pulling him down against his upward thrusts. His breath was coming through gritted teeth now as the whole bed frame scraped and shrieked under their motion. Distantly, Reid could hear a few catcalls and whistles echoing from other cells along the tier.

“Doc…” Hotch pressed a heated cheek against Reid’s throat. “I need my guy… _please_ …”

Hotch thrust up forcefully, lifting his hips off the mattress, and it was the jimmy that forced all of Reid’s tumblers to fall into place. A tremendous throb pulsed through him, sounding the deep, and then the echo shot out to every outermost edge of him. He clutched at Hotch and gave in as his body rode out waves of release, breathing in wet, tight whimpers as he did. Hotch moved erratically beneath him, his fingers digging into Reid’s back hard enough to bruise. Then he tightened all over and groaned loudly, his hips rolling in diminishing arcs that would have been mathematically eloquent. 

The thought made Reid smile as he and Hotch clung to each other, trying to catch their breath.

“What?” Hotch groaned eventually, his hands crawling up Reid’s back.

“I was… just considering… the mathematics of sex…”

Hotch waited a minute before responding, his breath heating Reid’s neck. “Really? You have energy left for that?”

“Studies have shown that the release of endorphins, oxytocin, and increased serotonin levels that occur in males directly after sexual release allows them to categorize, process and analyze information faster and more accurately than during any other waking state. And because the body achieves a marked degree of relaxation post-orgasm due to expended dopamine and increased prolactin, it is almost a perfect storm for highly effective cogitation. If one doesn’t fall asleep first.”

Reid felt Hotch pull away from him a little.

“So, in short,” He stuttered, feeling a little foolish. “Yes… I guess I’d kinda like to do the math…”

Hotch kissed him gently, his lips pulling but not demanding as he tried to curl around him. Reid felt Hotch soften against him, but the man made no effort to break their connection. He let Hotch do what he wanted, let his lips roam over his face as he relaxed into the shelter that they had made of each other. Finally, Hotch sighed in a way that Reid knew came from a smile, and warmed as his hands pulled him closer.

“Love you.” Was all he said, and Reid was too stunned to do anything but hold onto him. 

….

The size of the mattress didn’t leave them with a lot of choices. Reid lay curled around Hotch as tightly as he could manage, his back pressing against the cold stones of the cell wall. Even if the single bed hadn’t made the configuration necessary, Reid doubted that he would’ve come to rest any differently; his entire body thrummed with satisfaction at being _this_ close to this person. There was no going back now, no value in further denials. His body had gone ahead and made the commitment that his intellect was still fearfully skirting the edges of. He ached and cramped and clutched and held because it was the only thing that he wanted to do, and he didn’t care what the consequences were. There were sure to be some, but right now all he cared about was the rise and fall of the man’s chest in front of him and how it matched his own. He stroked the scars along Hotch’s stomach and let his thoughts drift. Sleep had almost claimed him when Hotch finally spoke up.

“I got them when I was nine.” He murmured, and suddenly Reid was wide awake again.

“Both of my parents were drunks, but my father… well, he seemed to be angry at life. I’m not sure what made him that way. I’m not sure that it matters. I spent a lot of time trying to please him. And to protect my mother and brother from him.” Hotch stretched a little and when he settled again, his hand covered Reid’s over his stomach.

“One night Mom passed out before making dinner, so I made some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for me and Sean. We sat in the living room, doing our homework and eating, when I realized that I’d left the peanut butter out. You have to understand that anything could set Dad off, even something like a jar of peanut butter on the counter… I rushed back to the kitchen, but it was already too late. He’d come in through the back door and was staring at the jar.”

Hotch began to fidget and Reid realized that it was to cover the subtle shaking that had overtaken his body. Reid curled himself around Hotch more tightly as if his physical presence could invalidate Hotch’s memories.

“He pointed to the jar when he saw me and yelled. I don’t remember what he said… it’s sort of funny that I can’t recall that part… but I remember that he took off his belt just like he had a hundred times before… when I forgot to take the garbage out, or when I took too long shoveling the front steps, or when I begged him to stop hitting Mom.”

Reid closed his eyes. He wanted to tell Hotch that he didn’t need to know, that he didn’t want to make him relive all of this - his understanding wasn’t worth all of that.

“Anyway, I don’t know why I didn’t just submit to it, but I didn’t. Not that night. I told him that I was sorry, that the jar had only been out for a few minutes, I said that I didn’t understand why he was so angry… And then the light in his eyes changed. It was if any recognition of me as his son evaporated and in its place was the image of something frightening that had to be quickly squashed. He dropped his belt and stepped back into the counter. He looked down and saw the butter knife I’d used to make the sandwiches…”

Reid squeezed for all he was worth.

“You couldn’t possibly imagine how dull a butter knife is.” Hotch breathed. “The first cut felt as if my skin was being stretched impossibly… it took so long for pain to hit that I remember being almost relieved when it did. It was absolute and paralyzing, but even so, I felt the next stab just as much. After that, everything gets a little hazy. The doctors told me that he managed seven more stab wounds before my cries woke Mom and she stumbled in from the living room. They said that she threatened to call the cops on him. She never threatened him with that, not even the time that he broke her jaw…”

Hotch fell silent and Reid felt hideous when he couldn’t stop question on his lips.

“What happened to him?”

“I woke up in the hospital. Mom was sitting beside my bed. I called out to her… I wanted to thank her for saving me. I was so proud that she’d finally stood up to him. She leaned over and looked at me, and then she said ‘Your father’s gone - I hope you’re happy now. You are a selfish little bastard and I’m sure that you deserved what you got’.”

A chill fell over Reid as Hotch said the words. Nothing breaks a person more effectively than the absence of love.

“I never saw him again and the cops never caught him. Mom died of cirrhosis a few years later… I’m not sure that she ever saw me as anything but unwanted furniture after that day. Sean and I went into foster care, and the rest kind of writes itself. Sean turned out alright, I didn’t.”

Reid placed a soft kiss along Hotch’s neck and then pressed his face into the pulse point. He tried to make his voice as even and solid as it had ever been.

“I would have never asked to know this story. I wouldn’t have wanted you to retell it, to relive it…”

Hotch squeezed Reid’s hand across his stomach and then turned his head slightly to look at him.

“It’s okay. You should know it.” Hotch tried to force a smile that didn’t quite make the grade. “Besides, I’ve never told that story to anyone before…”

The breath left Reid’s body as Hotch leaned in to kiss him back. When their lips met, Reid tasted salt in the dampness along Hotch’s cheek.


	46. Chapter 46

It was another week until Jenkins came up with the external drive. A week of grey meals, mindless bookkeeping for Strauss, and blissful, dark nights with Hotch. The whispered conversations and the fevered moments were almost enough to temporarily lift Reid out of prison. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way; even on the outside, he may have been free, but he had wandered around with a hole in him that now seemed miraculously filled in the last place where anyone was supposed to find fulfillment. 

Eventually Hotch arrived at Reid’s cell with the drive, undiluted anxiety splashed across his face. Reid took it reminding him that it would be simple to switch them out, but Hotch’s only response was a demand that Reid fuck him as hard as possible. Reid pushed him down, watching as the man curled his fists into the mattress flinching with every thrust, and wished for the umpteenth time that Hotch would just _tell him_ what had him so scared. Afterwards, when he held him, hoping for a moment of honesty, Hotch remained grimly silent holding onto Reid’s arms as if he’d disappear if he let go.

The next morning they sat quietly in the cafeteria staring at their eggs, Reid sitting in Rollo’s old spot making it clear to all that he was Hotch’s ‘second’. Reid pressed his calf against Hotch’s under the table, and Hotch looked up as if someone had screamed at him.

“You’re going to give the whole game away if you keep acting like this.” Reid tried to infuse his expression with humour. “Could you please just act like you have faith in me to pull this off?”

“I do.” Hotch said quickly. “I’m just concerned about what comes after.”

“That’s not really under our control. The Federal Prosecutor might decline to indict…”

Hotch gave him a sad smile that voiced his doubt about that possibility.

“Then, Strauss gets arrested.” Reid said firmly to shore up himself as much as to convince Hotch.

“Listen,” Hotch leaned in and gripped Reid’s thigh below the table. “Between the indictment and the actual arrest, there will be a window of opportunity for Strauss to act. You _must_ remain aware of everything around you during that period - do not allow her to catch you with your guard down.”

Reid suddenly felt cold all over as he realized that Hotch was acting as if he wouldn’t be around, as if, in a few short days, they’d never see each other again.

“Hotch, where will you be?”

“It’s not important - don’t worry about me.”

“What a ridiculous thing to say - of course I’m going to worry about you!”

Hotch blinked and then smiled, the tiniest bit of colour flushing his cheeks. “Okay, worry if you like. But know that I’ll be just fine. I’m asking you to focus on staying in one piece for the foreseeable future. Can you do that for me?”

Reid snorted disdainfully, and Hotch’s smile widened.

“That’s my guy…”

Reid warmed all over at that. He had no idea how he gained the right to feel so good in such an awful place. The post-meal count alarm sounded and the room slowly rose en masse to line up for the guards. Reid felt Hotch’s hand squeeze his thigh tightly one last time and then let him go.

“See you after.” He said and stepped into line.


	47. Chapter 47

The switch had been easy. Strauss didn’t even look up as Reid handed back the dummy drive at the end of his work session and then turned to Gerard who walked him to the security checkpoint. He had barely breathed for nearly four hours, but no one seemed to notice. He waited in his cell for Hotch. When he arrived, looking around him as he moved, Reid met him at the door and pressed the drive into his hand. Hotch kissed him quickly and then was gone; the drive had to make it out of the prison as soon as anyone could manage.

Hotch didn’t show up for the evening meal, or come to Reid’s cell afterwards. He tamped down the panic welling up within him reminding himself that any undue attention he brought to Hotch now could be his undoing. He didn’t sleep that night.

In the morning, he sat at the head of the crew table - alone again - and organized the gang’s duties as if Hotch’s absence had been planned. The members didn’t register anything unusual in Reid issuing orders, but he felt other eyes on him, greasy and covetous, who noticed the change with interest. His panic amped up a few more notches, but he just anchored his fearless killer mask in place a little more firmly in response. _I am my darkness. I dare you all to take me on…_

Strauss wasn’t in her office when he arrived for his work session, so he didn’t have to pretend to be working on files that she no longer possessed. He passed the hours fitfully until he shuffled into the cafeteria for lunch and saw Hotch sitting at the crew table talking to Jenkins. As if he knew that he was being watched, Hotch looked up at Reid and let the thinnest of smiles curl his mouth.

_I told you, I’m fine._

Reid sighed loudly and then headed to the lunch line trying to resist the urge to grin like a homicidal maniac. He dropped a tray of food that he didn’t remember selecting onto the table and slid in next to Hotch as he continued his conversation with Jenkins - something about the Mayans. Reid let out another sigh, just loud enough for Hotch to hear, and felt Hotch’s leg press into his forcefully. He closed his eyes.

_Thank God…_


	48. Chapter 48

Reid waited as long as he could for Hotch that evening, but when he didn’t show, Reid took off across the tiers at a run. He didn’t care if it was imprudent - he wasn’t going to manage the last leg of this alone. The five-minute warning alarm sounded as he ran, and he just made it to Hotch’s cell, sliding through the door before it automatically closed and locked for the evening. Hotch looked up from where he sat cross-legged on his mattress with a look of genuine surprise on his face as the tier dropped into darkness.

“What are you doing?” He said.

“Where have you been?” Reid ignored his question.

Hotch gave Reid ‘a look’ and then sighed. “I was making sure that the package was delivered, and then waiting for a response from the recipient.”

“And?”

“And,” He sighed again heavily. “It was everything that was promised. And more.”

Reid walked towards him and then crouched down in front of his pallet laying his hands across Hotch’s thighs. “So, what’s the problem?”

He felt Hotch’s hand warm the side of his face. Reid leaned into it and mumbled his appreciation when Hotch’s thumb started to stroke the line of his cheekbone.

“There’s no problem.” He whispered eventually. “You were perfect, like I knew you would be. The Feds are blown away by the breadth and depth of evidence you provided… none of this would’ve been possible without you, Doc.”

“So why were you sitting here alone? Why were you keeping your distance?”

“I’m just tired. I haven’t slept very well over the last few nights…”

Reid rose up on his knees, his hands sliding along Hotch’s thighs, over his hips, and then slowly crawling up his chest to hold his face. 

“I know how to get you to sleep…” He murmured darkly.

“Doc…” Hotch’s protest was cut off by Reid’s mouth, and it was half-hearted at best when he opened up under him almost instantly with a grateful moan.

Reid forgot about all of the questions swirling in his head for a while as he moved in Hotch. Instead he satisfied himself with the slip of Hotch’s skin against his lips, the smell of him when he heated and blushed, the solid realness of his body when Reid fell into it and when it mercifully wrapped itself around him in return. When Hotch came with a cry so needy and raw, Reid wanted to wrap up the feeling that came with it so that he could carry it with him from that point on. That a person as guarded as Hotch would ever let himself be seen this way, that he would ever give someone else such power over him, made Reid’s stomach flip. He saw it for the act of faith that it was, and he was humbled by it.

As they lay together afterwards - breathless, sticky, and fighting against knees, elbows, and broken mattress springs - the questions returned. But Reid found that he only really wanted one answered - the one that he didn’t think he could ask in the first place: how long?

“What now?” He asked instead.

“Well, hopefully the indictment should be filed tomorrow or the next day. Then, the arrest warrant will be issued.” Hotch traced patterns along the inside of Reid’s arm, skimming in and around his needle scars both old and new.

Reid wanted to still Hotch’s hand, to tell him that he didn’t feel the urge to use. The stress was unbelievable, but he hadn’t felt the pull of The Row since he’d given his Dilaudid vial up.

“We’ve never discussed me leaving.” Hotch offered quietly and Reid was grateful that they were lying down when he felt gravity suddenly shift on him.

“No.” He whispered. “Are you leaving? Is that what tonight is about?”

“Tonight is about wanting you, just like every night has been.” Hotch gripped Reid’s jaw a little too tightly. “And, yes, my time here is almost up.”

Reid didn’t say anything. He couldn’t; he had forgotten how to breathe.

“I’m going to get you out of here-” Hotch started.

“Don’t! Just… don’t.”

“This is not a moment when your brawling tendencies are charming, Doc!” Hotch whispered roughly. “I _will_ come back for you. You can bet your life on it.”

“Bet my life…” Reid mimicked miserably.

“Don’t go soft on me now, Doctor. I need you to _be here_ , to stay sharp in the days to come, because this place might turn itself inside out before the dust settles. I cannot take you with me right away, but I will not leave you here alone. Do you understand me? I will always, _always_ have your back.”

“How? Through safety glass and a two-way speaker?”

Hotch pulled Reid against him painfully and cranked his arms around them until he felt bruised. He buried his face in Reid’s neck so that his words and breath were more felt than heard.

“Please, Doc, _please_ … just…” Hotch began to rock them as if lulling a child to sleep. “Just don’t give up on me…”

Reid swallowed around the stone that had lodged itself in his throat and tried one last time to be the man that Hotch needed him to be in that moment.

“S’okay, Hotch, s’okay…” Reid soothed as he dully thought about bullies’ fists and bloody shower tiles and the beautiful sting of a brand new needle on skin. “I won’t give up…”


	49. Chapter 49

Reid skipped breakfast in favor of a long, hot shower. He wanted to scour away the taste and feel of the night before. If Hotch was just days away from leaving and the prison was about to erupt into chaos, he had to find his focus. The Reid who irrationally believed in prison love stories had no place here. It was time for the man who had cut another con down in the yard; it was time for the man who made runners piss themselves. It was time to embrace the blackness that pooled just beneath the surface of him, always ready at a moment’s notice now.

He was roughly toweling his head when he heard the unmistakable squeak of rubber against wet tiles behind him. He didn’t hesitate to think; his body just reacted in a way that always seemed distantly alien to him. He shook free of the towel, pivoted and placed the full force of his turn from his hips, up through his torso, and along his arm to his fist. He clipped the edge of a body and wound up his other hand for a follow-up when he heard a voice he recognized.

“Whoa, Doc, Whoa!”

He pulled his second punch when Nik-Nik’s wild-eyed stare came into focus. The young runner was waving his hands in front of him almost comically, perhaps hoping to defend himself with a confusing display of interpretive dance. Reid hid his amusement and slid behind his mask once again. Nik-Nik could use a few boxing lessons…

“Sorry, Nik-Nik.” Reid unfolded a clean jumpsuit and began to dress. “It’s not wise to sneak up on people here.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ that…”

“What can I do for you?”

“It’s about what I can do for you… I been lookin’ for you since breakfast. I thought maybe they got you already…”

Reid’s eyes snapped to Nik-Nik. “What are you talking about?”

“Shit is _happenin’_ , man. It started last night but it’s still rollin’ now and it ain’t gonna stop. One of Rizza’s lieutenants was found dead in his cell this morning at first counts. The whole fuckin’ stir is buzzin’…”

“The Mayans?”

“Somehow they got tipped ‘bout Rizza’s plan, so it looks like they gonna take him out before he gets strapped enough to come at them.”

“What’s Rizza’s plan now?” Reid’s stomach dropped at the thought of the only possible answer.

“War.” Nik-Nik breathed, worry creasing his forehead.

“I gotta find Hotch…”

“I ain’t seen him at all today.”

Reid’s whole body went rigid. “He wasn’t at breakfast?”

“Not that I saw.”

Reid shook his head and pressed his panic hard into an unused corner of him. If Hotch were missing, he’d have to organize the gang so that they could protect themselves. If the Rooks and the Mayans were about to go to war, the whole prison was going to be up for grabs and he needed to shore up the crew’s power if they had any hope of surviving it.

“I guess it’s time, then.” Reid fixed his gaze on Nik-Nik, who was so eager to move that he was bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Are you in or out?”

“I’m in, Doc. This shit is real and yer the only guy who ain’t treatin’ it like some goddamned game. I don’t wanna die fer the sake of some fool’s ego.”

“Okay.” Reid gave the runner a smile of approval. “Here’s what I need you to do: find Diesel and as many other crew members as you can - tell them that you are under my protection now so they won’t beat the crap out of you. Tell them to meet me at the base of the tiers. Are there any Rooks who’d be willing to follow you?”

“A few.”

“Get them as well if you can. We’ll need the numbers. The base of the tiers… remember.” Reid nodded. “Go quickly but try not to attract attention - we don’t have a lot of time. I’ll be there shortly.”

_I’ve gotta find Hotch._

Nik-Nik turned and jogged out of the shower room. Reid heard muffled voices from out in the hall and a moment later Jenkins appeared in the doorway, sending an evil glare over his shoulder.

“Punk…” He muttered.

“Jenkins!”

Jenkins squinted into the showers and then moved towards Reid when he recognized his face.

“Where have you been? You heard the news?”

“Nik-Nik just told me. How bad is it really?”

“Bad enough. I figure that by nightfall this place is gonna be a locked down version a’ hell.”

“You mean a full riot?!”

“Yup. Been through a few. It’s best to find yerself four solid walls an’ seal yerself in ‘til it all blows over. That’s what I’m gonna do and you should too.”

“I’m gathering the crew… I was just coming to find you - I have to find Hotch…”

Jenkins’ face paled a little. “Gerard grabbed him at breakfast… dragged him outta there by his collar. Said he’d earned another stay in the hole, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“What do you mean?” Reid grabbed Jenkins’s arm. _Nononono…_

“Well, it’s always Morgan that comes fer Hotch, not Gerard. And Hotch always fights it but this time… I dunno… he looked… _surprised_. I thought maybe it was payback for the Mayan info…”

Reid felt sick and squeezed Jenkins’ arm until the old man yowled in warning. _I’ve gotta find him, I’ve gotta sav- Wait… what?_ “What Mayan info?”

“Hotch had me send information to the Mayans ‘bout Rizza’s plan to take their business.”

_What? Oh no…_

“As you can imagine, they didn’t like the sound a’ that one bit.”

_Shitshitshit!_

“Why would he do that?” Reid breathed.

“I thought that it was another ‘fuck you’ to Strauss, but he said that he needed the cover… whatever _that_ meant…”

“Cover?” Reid looked to Jenkins who just shrugged.

“Anyway, when I seen him bein’ dragged from the cafeteria this morning, I knew somethin’ serious was goin’ down. Maybe it don’t even have anything to do with the Mayans. So, that’s when I came ta find you.”

“Will he be safe in solitary? During the riot, I mean…”

“Sure, if that’s where they really took him.” Jenkins took on a serious, weary look and then stepped closer to Reid. “You better go find him, kid. I think he’s done somethin’ rash here… didn’t think it through first.”

Reid indulged in a moment of unadulterated fear; he felt paralyzed, as if he couldn’t move unless ordered to do so. He had to find Hotch, but he didn’t know where to start, how to get there, or even how to convince his legs to move. Suddenly, he felt boney fingers dig into his jaw and force his eyes to look into watery, grey ones.

“Go find Hotch, boy.” Jenkins growled. “Ain’t no time fer thinkin’!”

Reid swallowed hard and then shook Jenkins off. “I gotta go.” He murmured, and he thought he saw Jenkins crack a smile. He took off at a run, his sneakers making an unholy squeaking ruckus on the shower tiles as he went.

“Stay safe, old man.” He called over his shoulder to Jenkins.

“You too, kid. Don’t get dead.”


	50. Chapter 50

Reid ran through the long halls connecting the main facility back to the Gen Pop tiers without much thought. He passed a few cons as he ran, their faces guarded and fearful - but otherwise it just seemed like a normal day in stir. Reid hoped for a split second that Jenkins had blown things out of proportion. As he approached the mouth of the hall where it spilled out into the open area circled by tiers of cells, he knew that Jenkins hadn’t overstated anything.

The din was rising; a cacophonous mix of shouting, metal clanging, tangled footfalls, and the unmistakable crackle of flames. Reid ran towards it, his perception of the situation shifting as more and more of the tiers became visible through the portal widening before him. There were men everywhere - running, grappling, shoving, punching, whimpering, falling… Orange was everywhere. Reid couldn’t see a single guard. There were streamers of flaming toilet paper collecting in corners waiting for more fuel to grow and spread. A few metal bed frames were littered across the tier floor, legs twisted from where they smashed into the concrete from several stories up. Mattresses piled up the open floor space, some on fire, some stuffed into cell doorways trying to keep occupants in or out depending on which side of the prison watering hole you lived. 

Reid slowed slightly as he made it to the tier entry, sneakers sliding along the floor slick with… well, he didn’t care to speculate. And it was fortunate because at that moment a flaming bed frame smashed into the doorway from above, knocking him back and off his feet from the shock of it. A cheer of revolt sounded at the crash and then was quickly lost amongst the other sounds of destruction. Reid stood up and kicked at a part of the frame that wasn’t on fire, causing it to tumble away from the portal and into the tier itself. He leapt over the frame and got his first, full view of the riot. 

Everywhere men were running. Dozens of fights had broken out, both groups and individuals, but nothing so organized as one gang against another. A constant litter of objects came falling from the tiers above him: personal belongings, paper, torn books, clothing, random bits of plastic and metal that would no doubt quickly become weapons… He looked around, desperate to find one of his crew - just a single face that he recognized in the chaos. _I have to find them… I have to find Hotch…_

A fist slammed into his jaw and sent him sprawling into the bed frame that he’d knocked over.

“C’mere, fucktard, an’ get a piece!”

Reid leapt out of the flaming heap and slapped out a few points on his jumpsuit that had caught on fire. He curled his fists and looked to the voice - it wasn’t anyone that he knew. Just a random con caught up in the animalistic thrill of the melee. Reid waited until the con made his move. The guy was a lot bigger than him, but slow and drunk on the violence around him - his moves were easy to anticipate. Reid heard Rollo’s voice in his head - about emotion having no place in a fight - and swallowed down his shock. He knocked away the con’s initial punch, keeping an eye on the guy’s other hand. When it moved, Reid wrapped his arm over it, trapping the man’s fist against his rib cage and pulling his frame taunt. Then he delivered a right cross that left the con dazed. He followed it with a sharp kick to the guy’s solar plexus and the con went down like a sack of wheat. Reid didn’t waste any time soaking up the moment; he ran in the opposite direction, in case the con had any friends. He heard his name in the din and looked up to see Diesel barreling towards him.

“Boss!”

“Where are the others?” Reid barked.

Diesel yanked him towards a sheltered overhang created by the first tier of cells. A mattress lay propped up against the cement wall, and Diesel ripped it aside to reveal a small room - probably used as a barracks by the guards during night duty. Nearly two dozen men where cramped uneasily in the room. Reid saw many faces he knew, and a few that he didn’t, but all of them nodded at his presence. Some even looked a tiny bit relieved.

“How many?” Reid demanded of Diesel.

“Almost fifteen. They was as many as I could find before it got too crazy. I was out lookin’ fer others - that’s when I saw you.”

“Where are the guards?”

“Dunno. Didn’t see none. It’s weird that they ain’t locked us down yet either.”

 _Maybe there’s no one to give the order_ , Reid thought. _Maybe Strauss has already been picked up…_

“Well, we can’t stay here. There’s no telling how long this’ll last, especially if the guards won’t step in. We need to get to a safer location to ride this out. I want you to take the crew to the laundry - it’s a solid room with no windows and access to fresh water. Do what you have to in order to secure it and barricade yourselves inside. If you find stragglers along the way that you can save, do so, but don’t take any unnecessary risks.” Reid grabbed Diesel hard by the bicep and squeezed. “Do you understand? This is not about winning a fight - it’s about survival.”

Diesel nodded solemnly. “What about you? You ain’t comin’?”

Reid shook his head, no. “I’m going after Hotch.”

“They took him.”

“I know, but I don’t think he’s safe. I’ve gotta find him.”

Diesel nodded once again and then barked the marching orders to the rest of the men huddled in the barracks. He bullied them into movement and then pulled a con aside for a quick word.

“We’ll follow ya once we got Hotch.” Diesel said to the con before pushing him in the direction of the others.

“‘We’?” Reid raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. We.”

Reid turned and saw Nik-Nik lingering in the doorway as the last of the crew disappeared down the tier towards the laundry.

“We ain’t gonna let you go alone.” Nik-Nik nodded towards Diesel. “Look at you: yer a pair of chopsticks wrapped in a napkin, fer chrissakes. You need me to get you past any Rooks, and we need him to smash anyone else who gets in tha way.”

Diesel stretched his shoulders a bit and smirked. Reid rolled his eyes - he should’ve known better than to expect a bunch of cons to _willingly_ forego a little unchecked aggression. He didn’t have time to waste on the argument, so he just cocked his head towards the door and groaned.

“C’mon then. It’s a hike to solitary confinement…”


	51. Chapter 51

“What if he ain’t there?” Nik-Nik huffed beside Reid as they ran, avoiding random fistfights and barricades of oddities as they moved.

“I’m open to suggestions.” 

“What if the Warden’s got ‘em?” Diesel added.

“If he’s outside the secure segment of the prison, then we can’t help him no matter who took him.” 

Reid’s stomach rolled at the idea. What if Hotch had been taken to the Admin wing? The thought that Hotch could be just on the other side of a security checkpoint somewhere being beaten or tortured or… whatever, flooded his body with a pure desire to kill. If Strauss dared to do that, to keep him _just_ beyond Reid’s reach and then kill him as she did Rollo, he’d spend the rest of his days orchestrating payback. He’d live a long life, use every resource, amass dozens of favors, plan it all out in meticulous, Byzantine detail, and he’d savor it to the last drop when the time came. He could almost taste copper in his mouth at the thought.

They ran across a T-junction in the hallway and suddenly a body barreled into Reid, knocking him against the far wall and to the ground. He gasped desperately, air refusing to inflate his lungs, as he looked up into the irate face of another random con. The man was half-collapsed on top of him, and he reared back before slamming his fist into Reid’s temple. Reid’s vision went white and blurry, the horrible din mercifully fading into the background for an instant. His chest hurt and something was dripping into his eye causing him to blink, which made what little he could see seem to stutter like a hiccupping filmstrip. He floated for a moment, knowing he should move but not able to muster the willpower. Eventually, reality started to come back to him in flashes and bursts of noise that made the back of his neck bristle. He heard his name… once, and again… someone sounded afraid… then hands pulled him up and away…

“BOSS!” Diesel was in front of him, eyes wide with shock, shaking him like a rag doll. “What the _fuck_ , Boss?!”

Reid was confused. He looked at where Diesel held his hands; the knuckles were bruised and bloodied. He turned them over in Diesel’s grip.

“What the-”

He looked down and saw a bloodied, pulpy mass of a man whimpering and twitching at his feet. Was that the guy who’d run him over?

“What did you do, Diesel?” He asked.

“ _I_ didn’t do nothin’. _You_ did that.”

“Me?” He whispered as he became horribly fixated on something floating in the blood pooling around the con’s head. _Oh, Jesus! Were those teeth?!_

“C’mon!” Nik-Nik yanked them both away. “We ain’t got time for this!”

They ran again, this time with Diesel and Nik-Nik flanking Reid, perhaps hoping to fend off any other unsuspecting targets. Reid tried to recall what he did - anything - but the last thing he remembered was thinking about Strauss… what she may have done to Hotch…

They burst through the opening into the solitary confinement section only to find it in the same state as the Gen Pop tier: fires, chaos, indiscriminant battles being played out in the open. The solitary cells were all open to the main floor - none seem to be occupied. But through the haze of smoke and frantic bodies, Reid caught a flash from the corner of his eye. It was noteworthy because it _wasn’t_ orange. He saw the back of a prison guard, blue shirt and black pants, looming over someone, a baton raised over his head.

“Gerard!”

Reid looked to the voice that yelled out above the rest and saw Morgan running towards the guard with the baton, trying to place his body in front of it. Reid took off at a sprint, not sure of what he’d find when he reached the two guards. A body collided into his as he moved, throwing him off course and giving him moment to watch Gerard’s baton come crashing down over Morgan’s shoulder. He hesitated, waiting to see what would happen next, but Gerard reared back again and prepared to beat right through his co-worker to whoever lay beneath him. Reid got to his feet and aimed straight for Gerard’s back. He grabbed the guard by the waist and slammed them both against an open cell door. Gerard huffed and swore beneath Reid’s body, then struck out blindly with his baton. Reid smashed his hand against the doorframe forcing the baton to bounce away across the concrete floor.

“Fucking pencil-neck cop killer!” Gerard gasped in surprise as he rolled under Reid’s body.

Reid grabbed Gerard’s head by his ears and smashed his skull against the floor a few times until the guy stopped thrashing so violently. He thought about Rollo, haloed on the shower room floor in his own blood, with one mocking slash across his throat. He thought about the look of surprise on Rollo’s face, almost the same as the dazed look that Gerard now wore. He wished that Rollo were there, so that he could step off and watch the strongman eat his own words about leaving anger out of fighting. He wanted to watch his friend get his vengeance, but it was far too late for that. Proxy justice was the best that he could hope for.

Reid felt around him until his fingers wrapped around metal. A sheered bed leg lay by the open doorway. He snatched it up as Gerard tried to slug him. Reid punched out, hard, and then pinned the guard’s arms to the ground with his knees. He felt the rough edge of the bed leg cutting into his palm and then leaned into Gerard’s bruised face.

“At least you’ll see this coming. That’s more than you gave Rollo.”

He raised the bed leg above him and gritted his teeth…

“Doc!” The voice settled over him, cooling the searing hate that was blanketing everything within view. “Take a few deep breaths for me…”

He turned back towards Morgan and saw Hotch crawling out from under the dazed CO. He held his hand out, legs still tangled up in Morgan’s.

“Hotch?”

“I’m fine. See? I’m just fine.” Hotch’s eyes were pleading: _Don’t do this…_ He had cuts and bruising along his face, but he seemed intact otherwise. 

Reid dropped the bed leg and sagged, all of the energy draining from him. Gerard made one last attempt to move and Reid slugged him hard enough to knock him out cold. Then he looked back at Hotch, who was giving him a look of disdain.

“Really?” He breathed.

Reid shrugged and wiggled the fingers of his right hand to work out the shocks of pain that lingered in them.

“He’s been doin’ that all over the place today.” It was Nik-Nik, who was doubled over breathing hard. Diesel lurched up behind him with a fresh cut to his mouth.

“Well, his timing was good, that’s all that matters.” Morgan grunted and stood up slowly, his hand clasping his ribs. “Thanks, kid. Now, c’mon, Hotch… we gotta go…”

Morgan nodded towards the door at the end of the solitary room. It was a security checkpoint just like the one that Reid passed through to reach Strauss’s office. Hotch gave Reid a long, sad look, and then got to his feet, turning to follow Morgan.

“Wait!” Reid scrambled after him, yanking him back by his wrist. “Go where? We’re in the middle of a prison riot! No one’ll get released today…”

“Doc, let me go.” Hotch’s eyes looked old, worn, _exhausted_.

“NO! Where are you going, Hotch?”

“My time’s up.” He murmured.

“We don’t have time for this!” Morgan growled. “This place is falling apart, Hotch - I thought you took care of this already!”

“Well, the Feds jumped the gun a little and the Mayans got antsy - so sue me!” Hotch barked back.

“What is going on here?” Reid breathed afraid of the answer pulsing inside him.

“Jesus,” Nik-Nik gasped behind Reid. “He’s a stooge.”

Hotch’s eyes snapped to Nik-Nik in warning but it was too late. Reid turned. “What?”

“A snitch, man.” Nik-Nik sneered with distaste. “Yer man’s a goddamned snitch.”

Reid looked back at Hotch and tried to see the man that he thought he knew. “Is that true?”

Hotch sighed and then ripped his wrist out of Reid’s hand. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“So… so, you were here…”

“I was here for Strauss.” He said flatly without an ounce of feeling. “And now the job’s done.”

“Hotch, we gotta go - _c’mon!_ ” Morgan bit out again.

“Doc, I’m sorry.” For a split second, Hotch’s face collapsed into the same defeat he’d worn as when he’d described the night his father stabbed him. But just as quickly, that look faded until there was nothing left but the face of the man who had nearly beaten Golem to death with his bare hands. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

It had all just been for evidence. Maybe a commuted sentence. Maybe some sort of federal pardon. Hotch had always claimed that people were just out for themselves in prison. There were no gentlemen, no manners, no love stories in a place where men were no longer considered men. Just things - objects - raw material to be acquired…

_I’m a sky that no one looks into. I’m an ocean that nothing sails over. I’m a book that’s never been opened… a word that’s never been spoken. I was nothing to anyone. I never mattered… I never mattered…_

Blackness flooded Reid’s chest. It lit every nerve ending, made every hair he had stand on end, filled his heart with smoke and tied down his intellect with barbed wire. He watched Hotch look at him - almost in slow motion - as he stepped closer and put all of his power behind a right hook to his gut. Hotch stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock, and protected his abdomen with curled fists of his own. 

Then suddenly time sped up again and what happened next happened quickly. 

Reid heard Nik-Nik shout at the same moment that Morgan yelled and moved towards them. From the corner of Reid’s eye he saw Morgan go down, tackled by a solid mass of a man. _Diesel._

Reid stepped into Hotch again and fired off a left hook to his jaw that Hotch deflected at the last moment. The look on Hotch’s face was one that Reid had never seen before; he seemed paralyzed and unable to do anything but react. Reid didn’t wait to read his next move. He feinted to his right and then shot out his foot to catch Hotch’s left leg, throwing him off balance and sending him back into the wall behind him with a sickly crack. Hotch slid down the wall, dazed, but still with his fists curled to protect him. His eyes rolled for a second but then focused again, shock transforming into some sort of horrible realization.

“Doc!” He breathed.

Behind him, Reid dimly heard Nik-Nik shouting out encouragement and Morgan yelling as Diesel held him at bay, but they were cicadas buzzing in the heat of his forward momentum. Reid launched himself at Hotch with a yell and Hotch struck out, slamming a solid hit to Reid’s jaw. 

“Please Doc!” He tried again, but it just became part of the background noise.

_I was nothing… nothingnothingnothing… God, why would he try so hard to convince me otherwise? WHY DID HE HAVE TO DO THAT?_

Something broke free in him and shook him like a terrifying seizure. He tried not to give into it, not to give himself over to the liberating feeling of being destroyed from the inside out. He needed this energy; he wanted to harness it. He reeled for a moment and then smashed Hotch with one of Rollo’s combos. Hotch deflected two of them, but the third hit home across his left eye socket and produced a disoriented grunt along with a gush of blood.

“Nothing but a LIAR!” Reid bellowed as he straddled Hotch’s torso, struggling to pin one of Hotch’s arms under his knee. “I knew it all along - but you reeled me back in, didn’t you?”

_WHY’D YOU HAVE TO DO THAT?_

He successfully pinned one of Hotch’s arms and then punched his exposed side a couple of times hoping like hell that he would crack a few ribs. Hotch groaned and tried to reach out to Reid with an open hand, his eyes rolling wildly.

“Rei-” Hotch’s gasp was cut off by a left hook.

“Needed me, _my ASS!_ ” Reid slammed his elbow down into Hotch’s chest with a wet snapping sound. It was a move that he had learned from watching Golem’s beat down in the shower and it seemed vaguely appropriate now, even though the move sent a violent shock of pain up Reid’s right arm.

Hotch’s chest heaved mightily, throwing Reid off to one side. He was still more powerful than Reid, even with all of the damage done. Hotch crawled away from the wall out onto the floor, laying himself out with a wet moan of pain. He curled a hand to his chest where Reid had slammed into him. Reid tasted blood in his mouth; he’d probably done some real damage there.

Distantly, Reid saw Diesel and Morgan still struggling, but Diesel was winning the battle. Morgan yelled viciously, foam lining the corners of his mouth. Reid stood slowly, weaving a little from the head rush. His hand throbbed - _must be broken_ , he thought absently. He walked over to where Hotch lay and then sank down over his torso. Hotch’s eyes flicked open and Reid hesitated for a split second under that dark glare. It was the perfect opportunity to strike out - a lapse that Hotch had taken advantage of so many times while sparring - but he just lay under Reid and tried to say something with his stare that Reid couldn’t understand. 

_I always had to guess, didn’t I? And you banked on me always guessing wrong…_

Reid knocked him across the jaw again. He reared back and repeated it. Again. And again. And again. Hotch’s free hand reached out blindly once more, grabbing a fistful of Reid’s jumpsuit and pulling him down with a horrifying grunt.

“It’s… it’s okay…” He mumbled wetly. Reid hit him again, hard.

“No, it isn’t.” Reid hissed. He punched him in the same spot, over and over, until it felt like some sort of meditation. He wanted to obliterate this face from his memory; he wanted to destroy those callused hands with violence. Every hit brought more blood, and the more blood there was, the less it felt like he was beating a human being. Hotch’s hand fell away from Reid’s jumpsuit and the one protecting his chest moved as well. The fists uncurled, the palms opened in surrender. His lips moved, making tiny air bubbles in his blood.

“S’o-okay…” He repeated and then laid his hands out along his sides. “S’okay…”

Reid hit him again. It was mostly cold curiosity now, to see what Hotch would come up with next. Hotch’s hands never moved to defend himself; he lay under Reid and let him do what he wanted. After each punch, Hotch opened his eyes and fixed Reid with them, no matter how disoriented he became. Finally, his lips moved again. There was no voice, just breath, so Reid had to lean in to catch it.

“-kay…” Hotch’s breath rattled in his chest. “G-got exactly w-what… I d-deserved…”

Something snapped in Reid then. Something small and slight and scared of everything, burrowed under the blackness. He felt the sound of it swirl in his belly, flooding over the edges of his violence and eating away at his organs. It reduced him to some essence that he had hidden for so long that he couldn’t remember if it ever had a name. It clawed its way up his throat, shredding his larynx and slicing his tongue as it broke its way through him to the light. He howled. It might have stopped traffic, or cracked glass, or frozen blood in a person’s veins - but he wasn’t sure if he was making an actual noise or whether it was all in his head. He wasn’t thinking about anything. He just had to get it _out_. He just wanted to spit it from him like poison, heaving until his muscles refused to move any longer - anything to purge this loneliness from him completely and for good.

_Why did you do it? Why did I let you?_

Suddenly he felt hands scrambling over him. He arched to get away, but his body was still dedicated to his paralytic scream. He felt air beneath him, and then cold concrete again, his feet splayed out in front of him twitching at odd angles. He saw Diesel run towards him, terror in his eyes, and then saw Morgan lurch to his feet, pulling something dark and bloody towards the Admin door in the distance. The CO looked back over his shoulder at Reid, and his eyes held the same terror that Diesel’s did.

Hands held him down, not to hurt but just to keep him still. But nothing could stop the howling in his head. He didn’t know how to bind the thing that had broken in him. Nothing breaks like the absence of love…

He lay his head down against the floor, the cool concrete pressing into his temple, and watched the trail of blood that led from his hands to the security door. 

 

**END OF PART 3**


	52. Chapter 52

The seasons changed. The dreariness of early winter smudged the skies with charcoal and cobalt until they were washed away by the unpredictable rains of spring again. He could only see time passing in the skies; what he would’ve given to have a tree within view - just _one_. Time in stir had a unique character: life was unbearably monotonous and yet everything blurred together so that it seemed impossible to pick out moments to give you a proper timeline. The riot was so long ago and yet he could call up memories of it with startling intensity - even for him - as if it had happened only a week before.

Strauss was arrested and under indictment. The majority of her staff had been re-assigned to other institutions. Gerard was being tried for the murder of Rollo and several other inmates over the years at Strauss’s behest. The cons were secretly hoping that he’d be incarcerated with them, but Reid just rolled his eyes and chuckled saying that the chances were so remote that he wouldn’t bother giving odds on it. 

The new warden was a man named Skinner. Reid had read him at their first meeting (former Marine, divorced, childless, legally educated and proficient though due to his bearing and need for order he was most likely JAG and not a litigator in civilian life) and found him to be fair if a bit insensitive. He claimed that he wouldn’t give Reid any special treatment even though he was a going to be a star witness at Strauss’s trial, but even so Reid sensed a grudging respect from the man. Reid did his best to stay out of his way - it was the most acceptable form of deference that a con could give to an outsider, and it caused him no grief to do so. Skinner had cleaned out The Row, transferring the hardcore junkies to other prison hospitals for treatment and then sealing up the unused cell block. Cell inspections happened regularly and he made a serious dent in the gang culture as a result. Savvy groups, like Reid’s, kept a low profile and continued to go about their business, but Skinner made the whole system a lot easier to manage by clearing away the mindless thugs and the anarchists. Now it was just down to those who were there to do _business_.

Reid was surprised that he had hung onto the gang in the aftermath of the riot. Diesel had stepped up, trying to intimidate on the scale that Rollo had previously established, and Nik-Nik had collected some like-minded Rooks, broadening the ranks and solidifying their hold as the whole world collapsed and reformed itself in the chaos. Nik-Nik was smart, tough, and open to instruction; Reid made him his ‘second’ and hadn’t regretted it so far. Other leaders deferred to Reid, not bothering to challenge his ascension. Memories of his attack on Rollo, his business acumen, and speculation on his part in Strauss’s fall as well as the beating he gave Hotch seemed to coalesce into an untouchable reputation that stood tall over his wiry physicality. He accepted it because it made his life easier but he never truly embraced it. It felt too much like he was becoming the ghost of Hotch: cloaking himself in a seamless, terrifying fiction.

Then there were his memories of Hotch. The way he’d dropped his hands, welcoming the beating that Reid had delivered… the bloody mess of him that Morgan had dragged away into the Admin wing… the CO’s wild eyes as the population went into lockdown and Nik-Nik struggled to hold Reid down, thrashing in the grip of his ungovernable rage… Reid could still taste the blood and the smoke of that moment. He didn’t have to work to call it up; it was always there, bubbling just under the skin of him. He hadn’t seen or heard of Morgan or Hotch after that day. He hadn’t tried to find out either. Even when a lawyer from the Federal Prosecutor’s Office came to depose him and give him an update on his role in Strauss’s upcoming trial, Hotch had never been mentioned and Reid had been too scared to ask.

 _Scared._ Scared because Hotch clung to his skin and pooled in his lungs and pulled on his mind, his lips, his heart, his groin… every hour of every day. Everything about the man had been a lie. He could accept that statement but if the lie had been broken down into details, fleshing out ‘how’ and ‘why’ for each little deception, Reid would collapse under the weight of that knowledge. He didn’t need help to be breakable. Each night his brain betrayed him, giving him a warm, solid chest to curl into. The arms around him were real enough to feel every bump and bruise, every callus and defect. The scars that rubbed against his abdomen, the light scrape of stubble across his face, the faint taste of both of them drying on the skin under his lips, the voice - quiet, hitching a little at the end - saying ‘I need my guy’… 

The verisimilitude brought him back to consciousness gasping for air and clutching at the darkness. Then the ache set in, and then the shame, and then, finally, the hatred. 

Why had a sliver of this man been planted in him so deeply? What was the point? Reid snapped the branches of it, strained to grab it by the roots and rip it from him, but he never seemed to get a good grip. Part of it always remained to sprout again, growing stronger, thicker, and _wiser_ , ready to fight off his attempts to eradicate it. He was scared to think about how much he hated Hotch. If he analyzed it, then he’d have to hate the part of him that held the memory of the man like a votive against the press of stir. The blackness would close around him, sliding down his throat and he’d slip beneath the surface for good, never to rise again.

The only thing that kept it all at bay was boxing. The only Strauss policy that Skinner didn’t abolish was the prison boxing tournament. Perhaps it appealed to the Marine in him. He not only kept the tradition, but he expanded it so that it was a quarterly event. He even constructed a weatherproof shelter for the ring and the training area in the yard so that cons could practice year round. Reid never competed - that wasn’t what boxing was about for him, and he was always too busy studying fighters and making book on them anyway. He had a business to run after all. But he trained constantly and any con who watched him practice soon learned that it was probably a bad idea to pick a fight with him. He wasn’t much to look at but he fought with a cold-blooded strategy and ferocity that told most to just keep on walking. He never held anything in reserve - he fought as if every blow would be his last.

He was dancing around the ring with Diesel in his practice pads when the guard called to him from across the training area.

“Reid! Get a move on - yer lawyer’s here!”

Reid dropped his hands and popped his mouth guard studying CO Dillon for a moment. He was younger than the rest of the new prison staff and he made an extra effort to appear bullish as a result. After Reid sized him up (college educated, first penal job, married, new father, ambitious - might be the warden some day), he did his best to appear extra conciliatory towards Dillon. The attitude rubbed off on the other cons and gave Dillon the extra boost that he wasn’t getting with bluster alone. Reid’s efforts had not gone unnoticed.

“Yes, Boss. Coming…”

Reid gave quick instructions to Diesel and then followed Dillon out of the yard and into the main building. They passed through several security checkpoints until they got to the visitor wing and headed to the isolation suites reserved for lawyer/client meetings.

“Didn’t know you had a lawyer, Reid.”

“I don’t. It’s probably just another Fed. They come by more now that the trial date has been set.”

“I thought maybe you were appealing your conviction…”

Reid shook his head and smiled sadly. “No. You’ve got me for the duration, Boss.”

“That’s too bad. It seems like you should’ve got something in return for nailing Erin Strauss. You did them a big favor - you did us _all_ a big favor…”

Reid looked at Dillon then and saw the conflict in his face: he respected Reid but it was fighting the attitude that had been instilled in him about convicts. Reid decided that the conflict was good and would serve this man well if he ever became warden. It’s best to be reminded that men are never just one thing.

“I just did what I had to. It didn’t feel like a choice.” That was true enough.

Dillon nodded and placed his hand on the iso room’s door handle. “Okay, you know the rules. Go in, sit, and play nice. You have fifteen minutes. If you need anything, press the red button - I’ll be out here.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“And Reid?” Reid looked back at Dillon. “Don’t let him push you around. You should think about asking for something… some concessions…”

“Yes, Boss.” Reid said quietly. “Thanks.”

Reid walked into the room and made a beeline for the chair closest to the door. The guards wanted you seated as soon as possible and he knew that Dillon was watching via CCTV. Once seated, he looked up to see the back of a tall man, leaning against the table between them in an impeccably tailored dark suit. The man straightened and closed a file that he was reading. He turned and dropped the file lightly on the table as all of Reid’s breath left his body.

“Hello, Reid.”

_Hotch._

Reid found that he couldn’t do anything but stare, so after an awkward moment in which Hotch’s smile (he was _smiling at him_ ) dissolved into something worrying, Hotch cleared his throat and began.

“My name’s Aaron Hotchner and I’m a lawyer with the Federal Prosecutor’s Office.”

Reid continued staring until he managed to summon his voice into action. “You’re a fucking _lawyer_?”

“Um, yes.” Hotch cleared his throat again and rolled his shoulders under his suit jacket as if it were too tight all of a sudden. His forehead was shiny under the trim line of his dark hair. _He’s nervous_ , Reid thought with shock.

“Are you here about the Strauss trial?”

“No. Technically, I’m a witness so another colleague is handling the prosecution.”

“Why were you in prison in the first place?” The questions were coming easier now, and so was the slow burn of the rage.

“I was a plant. I came here with fake criminal credentials in hopes of enticing Strauss to ask for my services… so that I could gather information on her activities. That was about a year before you arrived.”

“Don’t they have… _specialists_ to do that sort of thing?!?”

Hotch shrugged. He seemed apologetic and young and confused. He didn’t resemble the man that Reid knew at all; there was nothing of the cool, calculating, quietly volatile con that Reid had grown so close to in spite of himself.

“The Strauss investigation was mine. I’d been chasing her paper trail for two years before I came to this decision. No one knew the case better than me. I just couldn’t hand off the undercover investigation to someone new.” He looked up briefly with a familiar flash in his eyes that stole Reid’s breath again. “I have some control issues…”

“I don’t understand this.” Reid gripped the sides of the table and closed his eyes. _Here it comes… you’re going to find out everything now. Yell ‘avalanche’ if you want but it won’t save you…_

“Morgan was my contact - he actually was a guard but he delivered messages back and forth for me. He also smoothed out wrinkles so that my life inside was a little easier to navigate. Sometimes, I had to confer with my bosses, so he facilitated me getting out and then back into prison without Strauss’s knowledge.”

“You got OUT?”

“Whenever I went to solitary.” Hotch looked a little guilty. “Sometimes I needed to come up for air…”

“ _Come up for air?!?_ ” Reid slammed the table and then told himself to calm down. He was a con: he had to watch his outbursts. Hotch was silent for a full minute. Reid wasn’t looking at him - he couldn’t - but could feel that he wasn’t moving either.

“You _left_ me there.”

“I know.”

“I can’t… I don’t…” Reid was starting to shake. The blackness, the rage was bursting through every barrier now, blooming at an exponential rate, choking his veins with hate so that it was all that he could see or taste or breathe. He had loved and been used by a total stranger. He had allowed it to happen even when he had known better. The bitter taste of that thought almost made him gag right there. His body dry heaved before he could control it and he saw Hotch move towards him from the corner of his eye. Reid exploded from his chair and backed away from the hands that he had so often dreamed of. He didn’t care if Dillon burst in and dragged him off to solitary… at least it would end this horrible revelation.

“Spencer!”

“Don’t you dare.” Reid’s whisper was deadly. “You’ve never called me that.”

Hotch slowly stooped to right the toppled chair, never looking away from Reid in the corner of the room. He leaned against the chair as if it was the only thing that was preventing him from collapsing. He raised a free hand in surrender. “Okay.”

Reid had seen that look before.

_I just need you to be here._

His perfect memory dragged up the sensation of being held so close that he felt his ribs might crack, fingers digging into his skin with need leaving bruises that those same fingers would gently brush later in silent apology. He heard his name - Doc - echo across his body as lips traced it over and over and over his skin in prayer.

_Stop it, stop it! It wasn’t real - none of it! You were just a convenience…_

“Why me?” He stuttered. “Why did you do this?”

Hotch took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before he spoke. “Strauss didn’t take the bait. I miscalculated her caution and she wouldn’t take me into her confidence. But we had come too far to drop it. I had seen with my own eyes the breadth of her industry and I was convinced more than ever that she had to be stopped. We developed a new plan to cultivate a suitable mole from a new inmate and I would serve as his contact and supervisor.”

“So, I was conveniently malleable…”

“You were perfect: former law enforcement, isolated, an affinity for numbers, advanced intellect… you were… perfect.” Hotch slumped as the sentence fell from his lips.

“So, recruiting me? Befriending me?” _Seducing me?_

“Was part of my job, yes.” Hotch spoke roughly. “In the beginning.”

“Everything about you was a lie…” Reid spoke to his feet and then a sudden thought blocked out all of the others forcing its way from his mouth before he could stop it. “Christ, your wife…”

Hotch’s head snapped up and there was an unexpected look of anger on it. “Haley’s a realtor from Alexandria, not a thief, but everything else was true. We’ve been divorced for years - she got a better offer from someone else.” He stood up straight and gave Reid that stare that had sliced across rooms from the first time they met. He enunciated each word precisely. “As did I.”

“You can’t be serious.” Reid growled after a long cold minute. “After you abandoned me… after you’ve stood in front of me in your skin of normality and privilege preaching about the nobility of slaves… after you’ve set me up and knocked me down over and over… you have the balls to tell me that you _ever_ gave a damn about anything other than yourself or the prey that you were chasing?”

He felt the blackness seep into every pore. It rippled behind his eyes, it energized his muscles, it lengthened his breath and slowed his pulse. He let it take him away and consume him with its calm surety - it felt a lot like relief, like letting go.

“You go straight to hell, Aaron Hotchner. Whoever the hell you are.”

Power surged through Reid, more potent than any hit he’d ever taken, the moment that he saw Hotch almost stumble backwards at his words. Hotch held onto the scowl that was his go-to expression when everything else failed him, but the tell was just as expressive as anything that he was struggling to hide. He held Hotch’s stare and forced the man to back away from the chair by force of will before he walked over and slouched into it again. He crossed his arms over his chest and made eyes at a spot on the wall across the room.

“So… what else you got, _Aaron_? Why are you here? Or was it just to fuck with my day?”

Reid could hear Hotch breathing - rough, hitching breaths through his mouth and long exhalations through his nose to calm himself. He didn’t turn to look but he imagined that Hotch was curling and stretching his hands, unconsciously stretching his joints readying for a fight. The man was angry and Reid was glad - at least he managed to provoke that much in him if nothing more. In time, Hotch stalked over to his side of the table and snatched up the file folder that he’d dropped earlier. He stuffed it into a soft briefcase and then wrapped his hands around the top of his chair until the knuckles popped.

“I’m your lawyer, Reid.” He said carefully. “The one investigating your case and trying to find out who really killed Elle.”

Reid’s heart seized in his chest for an instant and then restarted with a massive, painful thud.

“I came to tell you that I’ve done it - I’ve found new evidence. It took me six months but nothing stays buried forever… Smitrovitch was cellmates with a man who had business dealings with a New York crime syndicate. This man and a hit man from the organization - a man named Eames - were old friends. It turns out that they liked sharing ‘war stories’ whenever they got together. Eames has been on the Bureau’s radar for years now but always seemed to slip through their fingers whenever they made a move against the syndicate. The only federal arrest that was ever made against him happened fifteen years ago… by a young FBI agent named Sanchez… and the arrest never made it to trial.”

Hotch sighed and paused, waiting for a reaction. When he didn’t get one, he continued. “It’s not a straight A to B to C connection, but it’s more than enough to cause reasonable doubt. That’s all you need. There’s an appellate hearing next Thursday. I brought you a suit to wear.”

Reid wanted to look up, to look into Hotch’s face and see what he wanted to see there, but he resolutely kept his eyes fixed on the far wall instead. Whatever Hotch decided to do or not to do was so laughably beyond Reid’s control now that all he could really do was just sit and watch the show unfold. He just hoped that Hotch was as good a lawyer as he was a liar.

“What I did was morally indefensible. If you think that I can’t see that then maybe I really am a stranger to you. But it was also _absolutely necessary_ , Reid, and if you weren’t so blinded by hate and betrayal right now, even you could admit to that. I know you could because _I know you_ , and because you chose to help me even when you could’ve walked away.”

Reid watched Hotch’s hands fiddle with his briefcase and then he walked towards the iso room door. He stopped at Reid’s side and waited. Reid didn’t look up.

“I won’t do something boring and pointless like asking for the forgiveness that you can never give me. I _can_ tell you that I’ve never been so sorry about doing something that I absolutely _had_ to do - I never dreamed that the cost would be so high. I promised you that I would get you out and I’m keeping my promise. What you do with the rest is up to you.”

Hotch stood a moment longer in Reid’s periphery and then knocked on the door to have Dillon let him out.

“Be dressed and ready on Thursday.”


	53. Chapter 53

Reid was fundamentally useless at his own appellate hearing. He felt like the pretty girl in a box that a magician was sawing in half. The suit Hotch left him was impeccable, much like Hotch’s, and to Reid’s shock and embarrassment, _expertly tailored_. He tried not to think about how Hotch recalled his exact measurements… So, Reid’s only purpose was to sit silently and look appropriate. Even Hotch had told him this briefly as they conferred when a court officer led him into the room in shackles. 

Hotch’s eyes swept over the suit and the corner of his mouth lifted in appreciation for a split second, and then it was all business. As the judge entered, he leaned over quickly.

“Raise your head. You are an innocent man and you have nothing to feel shameful about.”

Hotch was a mesmerizing attorney. Although there was no jury to perform for, Hotch’s twenty-minute summary of the new evidence discovered and his justification for the overturning of Reid’s conviction as a result of this evidence kept the courtroom silent and fully riveted to him. Even the Assistant District Attorney seemed disarmed by Hotch’s calm, thorough, convincing soliloquy. What Hotch asked for was a retrial and appropriate bail to be set for Reid in the interim, but the judge seemed more influenced that Hotch had anticipated: he overturned the conviction entirely and ordered that Reid’s record be expunged. The ADA objected vociferously but the judge went on a ten-minute rant about how his teenaged granddaughter could’ve seen through ‘this sham of a conviction’ in light of the newly revealed evidence. He was overruled, the gavel fell, and Reid was once again a visible citizen. He just sat at the defense table in a daze. The court officer came for him and he suddenly became afraid that he had missed the point of all of this. Wasn’t he a free man now?

“They have to process your paperwork.” Hotch laid a hand along Reid’s shoulder and Reid found himself pressing into it and away from the court officer. “It usually takes a few days but I’ll light a fire under someone’s ass and get it expedited. You’ll probably be out by tomorrow afternoon.”

Reid looked up at Hotch, wordless and with a thousand things written across his face. He felt Hotch’s hand tighten on his shoulder.

“It’s okay.” Hotch’s voice became lower, calmer… soothing. “But until the paperwork goes through you have to go back to stir. Just one more night, I promise.”

Reid looked away and nodded. He took a breath and slid behind the skin of the gang leader and the fighter that he had become, and then stood allowing the officer to secure his shackles for transport.

Reid turned and saw Hotch staring at him with awe.

“I was right about one thing at least: you’re a born fighter. A brawler who fights with everything he has until the end. I think that you might be the bravest man I’ve ever known.” There was pride in Hotch’s smile and then it melted away as if he were receding and going slightly out of focus.

“We’re ready here.” The court officer stood, ignoring their conversation, and nodded towards the Corrections team waiting in the corner to take Reid back to prison.

Hotch turned away and shoved papers into his briefcase. Reid nodded and looked towards the guards. “Okay, let’s go.”

The court officer led him out and Corrections took over silently. All the while, all that Reid could think was that he hadn’t thanked Hotch, and only part of that thanks was for his legal work.


	54. Chapter 54

“Fuck. So you was innocent all along?” Nik-Nik leaned against Reid’s cell door and watched him pack his meager belongings.

“I was.” Reid sighed as he drew out the last word. He had done things, things that he had to learn to live with, just like Rollo had said. Damn, he missed Rollo. His heart ached at what the big enforcer’s face would’ve looked like at the news of his release. He probably would’ve squeezed Reid hard enough to fracture something and then told him to fuck off and never look back. Reid wasn’t sure about never looking back. He knew that he was taking some things out into the world with him that he’d prefer to leave here; the blackness for one. The rage and the hurt and the desire to do violence were tagging along and he wasn’t sure how to make them fit into a respectable life. Maybe _that_ was what Rollo had really meant.

“Fuck.” Nik-Nik slouched a little harder against the bars.

“You said that already.” Reid smirked and Nik-Nik flipped him off.

“I wouldn’ve done anything you said if I’d known you was on the side of the angels.”

“I’m no angel, Nik-Nik. Not anymore.” Reid looked around and realized that he didn’t care if he’d missed anything. He turned back to his ‘second’ and packed up the last thing that was really important. 

“Listen now, the gang is yours, Nik-Nik. You know all the rackets and all of the players… just keep a steady hand on it and nurture someone to take it when you leave here. Make it yours but do it right - it’s a _legacy_. It should be the thing that makes all of the years in here count for something, you got it?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“I’m not your boss anymore.” Reid smiled. “I’m just some shit you used to know.”

Nik-Nik laughed out loud. “Truth. It’s gonna be hard to forget such a scary nerd though…”

“That’s okay. The world of nerds could use a fearsome folk hero… perhaps I’ll get more ferocious in the retelling.” Reid clapped Nik-Nik on the shoulder as he held his bag in his other hand. “Get yourself a good ‘second’ - it makes life a lot easier if someone’s got your back. Diesel might do…”

Nik-Nik nodded, getting quieter as Reid’s exit became imminent. 

“You’re gonna get out of here one day soon, Nik-Nik, so be smart until you do. And when you get out… come find me. Know you… if you want. I’ll help you out if I can.”

Reid looked down at his shoes and let his hand slide off Nik-Nik’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Doc.” Nik-Nik said quietly. “I won’t forget that.”

He turned suddenly and walked down the cell row never looking back. _How appropriate_ , Reid thought: his second-in-command left his life almost as inconspicuously as he had arrived in it.


	55. Chapter 55

“Reid! Hold up!”

Reid turned. He was almost at the security checkpoint that separated Admin from Gen Pop. Jenkins was shuffling towards him with a sad grin. Reid breathed a sigh of relief.

“I tried to find you… I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye…” Reid waved.

“I’ll give you a moment.” Dillon moved away from them and stood by the security gate that would bring Reid a step closer to freedom.

“So this is it, huh?” Jenkins huffed. “I guess you weren’t shittin’ about being innocent.”

“Not so loud, old man, you’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Who the fuck cares? Yer a ‘normal’ now.” Jenkins slapped Reid hard on the shoulder.

“You’ve been good to me, Jenkins.”

“Shuddap. I was paid for my services.”

“Not all of them. Even I know that.”

“Whatever.” Jenkins shrugged. “I just wanted to say good-bye to smartest guy I’ll ever meet. This ain’t no genius academy - don’t think that anyone’s gonna beat your record…”

“Jenkins… I don’t know where I’m going to end up out there.” Reid raised his hand when Jenkins tried to interrupt him. “But when I do settle, I’ll let you know. Maybe… maybe I can help you get some things you need.”

“You wanna be part of my pipeline?” Jenkins snorted with amusement.

“Sure. If it helps.”

“You should just forget this place, kid. Get out there and get back into your life.”

“You know better than that.” Reid whispered and then a thought occurred to him. “Jenkins, how long are you in for?”

“Life.”

“What did you do?”

“Armed robbery. But that was a lifetime ago, when I was younger than you are now…”

Reid made a face. “Armed robbery doesn’t carry a life sentence in Virginia unless there are aggravating factors.”

Jenkins sighed, looking older than he probably was. “‘Member I told you that I belonged to someone when I got here?”

“Yes, you said that he was killed and that no one claimed you after that.”

“Well… I killed him. And I got life for it.”

Reid stared at Jenkins and felt the weight of those two sentences. “That doesn’t seem fair.” He said quietly.

Jenkins waved off the comment. “I can’t say that I regret it. The bastard deserved ta die for what he done to me - he wasn’t like Hotch.”

Reid felt as if he had been slapped just hearing Hotch’s name in passing. For all of his anger, he couldn’t imagine wanting to kill him…

“Besides, I wasn’t gonna make it on the outside. In here, I am a man of standing - I _matter_ \- and that ain’t nothin’ ta sneeze at. The juice I got from slicing that motherfucker open set me up for life in here. Totally worth it.”

“Jenkins…”

“Go on now.” Jenkins waved and gave Reid a hard shove towards Dillon. “Get outta here before they decide ta keep ya. Try ta forgive yourself for the things you done in here. And try ta forgive Hotch as well - wherever he is - ‘cause I don’t think _he’ll_ ever forgive himself and there’s only so much blame you can milk from a situation, ya hear me?”

Reid stood dumbly and watched the old man turn and give him a last wave over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna take you up on that facilitatin’ offer of yours - it’s yer own damn fault for volunteering. Gonna get a list started right away!”


	56. Chapter 56

Reid was dressed, processed, paperworked, and unceremoniously dumped outside the final gate of the prison that was meant to have been his final resting place. It was cool and overcast; rain was in the air. He looked over to his left - just on the other side of the fence was the edge of the prison graveyard. He thought about Rollo and then saw the tree in the distance, still bare from the winter and the wind. It wouldn’t be long before its tiny buds would bloom.

_Rollo has a tree._

The thought made him smile and dimmed the ache in him a little.

Dillon said that there was a bus every forty-five minutes that would take him into the closest town; all he had to do was wait. Once he got to town, he was on his own. He didn’t even know _which_ town it would be. He had fifty-seven dollars to his name, the suit Hotch had given him, and a small duffle bag of sundries. He didn’t know where he’d go or what he was supposed to do now. Released convicts had probation requirements to fulfill, services that helped them gain employment and housing. But he wasn’t a parolee. He was a ‘normal’ now - no strings attached. Enjoy the freedom to sink like a stone in civilized society!

In the distance he saw dust kicking up from the road. At least he wouldn’t have to walk to civilization. He waited and watched as the dust cloud grew bigger and nearer until he could hear the engine signature. It wasn’t a bus: the engine revolutions were too fast and too high. At best it was a V6 that was the product of good design and careful maintenance. Perhaps German. The black car slowed as it approached the gates but it didn’t stop until it had pulled up directly in front of him. The window slid down and the trunk popped at the same time. Hotch scowled from behind the wheel and stared. When Reid just stared dumbly back, secretly overwhelmed to see a recognizable face, Hotch sighed.

“Are you coming or would you like to wait for the bus?”


	57. Chapter 57

The car ride had been, frankly, awful. Neither one of them spoke nor was there anything for miles except wasted, winter-worn farmland to distract the senses. Reid felt tremendously uncomfortable in the suit that fit him like a glove and was a little pissed off that Hotch was giving him the silent treatment. Rationally, it made sense - Reid wasn’t welcoming conversation - but it felt as if what Hotch was doing had become a burden to him, and Reid wondered why he was persisting, now that he was a free man. When he couldn’t stand another moment of silence, Reid caved.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

“What home? Whose home?”

“Yours.”

“You know I don’t have one…”

“Yes, you do. It’s all been arranged. I’ll explain when we get there.”

It was another forty-five minutes before they made it to D.C. and then Hotch had to negotiate capitol traffic until they hit Georgetown. Hotch pulled up in front of an expensive-looking studio block and then directed Reid into one of them. They rode the elevator in silence and Reid followed Hotch down the hall until he was let into a southern-facing apartment. 

The place was huge by Reid’s standards, even if his last home hadn’t been a 6’ x 8’ cell. The space had once been in industrial use and the renovation to a living space had kept that in mind. It was open concept with high ceilings and windows, exposed brick and load-bearing beams gave it a rough-hewn charm that reeked of expense. The furnishings were cozy, mismatched and bohemian - what he probably would’ve chosen himself - but above all, it was _quiet_. The walls were thick and secure insulating the occupants from harm as well as curiosity. It was wonderful and there was no way in hell he could ever afford it. He turned to face Hotch who was watching him from the doorway.

“Is this your place?”

“No, it’s yours.”

“I can’t aff-” Reid started to sigh.

“The lease is covered for a year as well as all of the utilities. The furnishings and contents are yours as well - you may do what you like with them if they aren’t to your tastes.”

Reid looked around again and started to notice details. There were books _everywhere_ , the shelves, corners, piled in artful clumps next to chairs and the couch… The kitchen was small and bright, looking out over the living room. The appliances were new but purposeful - no ridiculous juicing machines or low fat grilling monstrosities. There was an impressive Gaggia coffee maker and Reid nearly swooned. How long had it been since he last had a decent cup of coffee? He looked up and saw that there was a loft above the front entry that expanded over half of the floor space. That must have been the bedroom. 

“There’s a bathroom up there too.” Hotch followed Reid’s eyes upward. “And there’s another next to the office over there.”

Hotch pointed towards the only section of the main floor that was separated from the rest. Reid walked towards it and ducked his head in. The walls were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves curling around a battered, well-loved desk that looked out through a southern window. Reid felt his mouth drop open: there was a new computer, old library chairs off to one side and still _more_ books…

“This apartment was a two bedroom, but it also works as a one plus office.”

Reid turned and saw Hotch doing his best to hide a smile.

“I didn’t know the Fed had offered any sort of reimbursement…” He started.

“They didn’t. It would be a conflict that could damage the validity of your testimony. This was… me.”

Reid closed his mouth and brushed past Hotch back to the entryway. “I can’t accept it.”

“Reid…”

“You claim to know me so well - you must have seen this coming.”

“Listen,” Hotch said through clenched teeth. “This place is paid for whether you live in it or not. If you want to sell off everything here and leave it empty, that’s up to you. _Right now_ you need a place to live and the Fed needs a place where we can contact you, not a string of SROs or postal outlet addresses…”

“It’s not that. This is just one more way to control things! I can’t possibly pay you back for this… I don’t want you hanging over me any more.” Reid barked.

“Fine! If that’s what you want, get over here.”

Hotch stormed over and dragged Reid to the kitchen island by his elbow. Reid was winding up a punch when Hotch shoved him at a pile of papers on the counter and pointed.

“Just sign that and you can do whatever you want with your life, free of any connection to me.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a settlement offer I negotiated for you in return for _not_ suing the Commonwealth of Virginia for wrongful conviction and incarceration. It’s four hundred and fifty thousand dollars in an account under your name. It’s a one time payout, no IRS issues, and a non-disclosure agreement, of course - the government has to protect its precious reputation…”

“I just sign?” Reid felt lightheaded.

“Just your signature and a call from me, and you’ll have financial freedom that has _zero_ connection to me. You can walk out of here and find your own damned place.”

Reid began flipping through the contract, eyes flicking trying to reboot his brain a little.

“You don’t owe me anything, Reid.” Hotch’s voice softened. “I just wanted to give you something… a safe place… even if it was only for a night.”

Reid looked up from the contract and then took the space in again. He realized that every detail, every book had been arranged by Hotch, chosen by him specifically _for_ Reid. The enormity of the task settled into him for a moment. Sure, it was a little creepy, but it was also amazing how he had gotten so many details just right. It was almost exactly the space that Reid would’ve chosen for himself if money hadn’t been an obstacle. He hated that Hotch knew him this well.

“It’s manipulation…”

“It’s four walls and a roof. And a bunch of things. Nothing more.” Hotch sighed and pinched his nose.

Reid went back to the contract and flipped through it violently until he had absorbed it all. He refused to look at Hotch, or wonder about the books in the study, or be curious about what Hotch had chosen for the bedroom…

“Where do I sign?”

Hotch walked forward and silently flipped to the second last page. He laid a pen down on the counter beside it.

“Date it as well, if you would.” His voice was almost a whisper in the open room, but Reid still heard it waver.

He signed the papers, and Hotch signed as a witness. Hotch then dialed a number on his phone, had a quick, quiet conversation and then hung up.

“The money’s yours. Here’s the bank and account number.” He slid a piece of paper across the counter to Reid without looking at him. “You may confirm the balance by email or phone if you wish. Here is your copy of the agreement. I’ll file the state’s copy in the morning.”

Hotch collected up the signed contract and folded it away into a briefcase. He turned on his heel, all straight-backed professionalism and reserve, and headed for the door.

“Please contact the Federal Prosecutor’s Office with an address when you settle on a place. I’m not the lead on the case anymore so there’s no need to contact me.”

“I’ll stay the night here.” Reid spoke up quickly. “If you don’t mind. I’m tired and don’t feel like hunting down a hotel.”

“Do as you wish. This is yours whether you use it or not.”

Reid looked up and saw Hotch staring at him from the open doorway. The only word to describe the look on his face was desolation and it made Reid’s stomach twist sharply. _Did you really want to hurt him that much? Maybe Jenkins was right - maybe there’s only so much guilt I can rend from him…_

“You know, Haley and I were married for ten years.” Hotch began wistfully. “For the most part, we were good together and I don’t really regret it. We’ve been apart for some time now and in the interim I’ve discovered that I’m starting to lose details about her. Her face becomes less distinct as the distance between then and now lengthens, even though we spent a decade memorizing the little things that every one else misses. I don’t remember what perfume she wore, or what her favorite song was, or whether or not she liked the way her feet looked.”

Reid was starting to wonder what this had to do with him.

“It’s the little things that make a connection stronger.” Hotch was looking at the reclaimed floorboards with too much interest and then he looked directly at Reid. “But I’ve never forgotten a single thing about you, and believe me when I say that I’ve tried. The way the muscles in your forearms move when you twitch your fingers in thought, what your hair feels like at the back of your neck when it’s wet, the way you wrinkle your nose when you’re frustrated but you won’t say anything, how you sleep curled up like a little boy… We only knew each other a short while, and you could argue that not enough time has separated us, but… your details never dim, Reid. And I doubt they ever will. I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you…”

Reid felt his stomach twist dangerously and reached out to grab the countertop for support. He was starting to shake and felt that it would start to rattle the cupboards if he didn’t sit down quickly to let it pass. _I wasn’t supposed to matter… It’s not supposed to be like this…_ , he thought absurdly. _Well, then, what’s it SUPPOSED to be like?_

“Take care of yourself.” Hotch ducked his head and then shut the door quietly behind him. 

Reid stumbled over to the couch and crumpled down into the cushions when his legs gave out on him. He closed his mouth tightly and forced the words in his throat back down into the deepest part of him. But the response that he didn’t want to hear himself make pushed back up into his chest, and he gagged on it. He won out over the impulse for a few moments, but eventually he had to dash to his new washroom before his stubbornness choked him to death.


	58. Chapter 58

Reid was just starting to get used to the things that he had previously taken for granted. Moving from one room to another without asking permission first, sleeping late without fear of punishment, setting his own schedule and not carving up his day into units of work and attendance… He made himself go out once every day in order to get used to people again. He nearly had a panic attack at the noise and press of people at a local café; there wasn’t a single place to sit where his back would be protected. He opted to sit in a nearby park and drink his coffee instead. The grass would signal someone approaching him and, besides, there were trees there.

He kept to himself, made cursory contacts with former colleagues and schools that had once sought to hire him away from the FBI, and lost himself in the details of Hotch’s unwanted gift. It had been two weeks and Reid hadn’t lived up to his threat of abandoning the place; every time he thought about it something new would capture his attention about it. He even found a cache of those awful supernatural ‘tween’ novels amongst the books about particle physics and early Keynesian economics in the study. He snorted in amusement - let it never be said that Hotch didn’t have a wry sense of humor. After the third week, he caved and let his contact at the Federal Prosecutor’s Office know that he would be staying here for the foreseeable future. The lawyer seemed impressed by the address and thanked him for the update. They scheduled a meeting for a month’s time.

Reid didn’t hear from Hotch.

The nights were more difficult than the days. The apartment walls isolated the unit so completely that the silence was almost too much for him to bear. Nights in stir were never entirely quiet and, in time, he had found an odd comfort in that. He tried to stay up late, attempting to exhaust himself with books or tv. One of the last things that Reid had discovered when looking through the apartment was the old, mismatched chess set on a small table between two leather chairs in the bedroom. 

When he first saw it, it had cut him straight through to the bone, and he considered throwing it away. The set had no value whatsoever except to _them_. To see it set and waiting - the two well-worn chairs eagerly anticipating the players’ arrival - across from the bed, made him hate Hotch all over again. Those games, those conversations in stir had been something that he clung to, and if he could have just one memory from that time be real, he would’ve wanted it to be those games. But now it just sat in the corner of his beautiful apartment and haunted him with doubts. One night, bored and afraid of the silence in his head, he sat down to play. It had been ages since he played against himself and he thought that the practice might be distracting. It didn’t take him long to realize his mistake.

“I thought that you’d never get around to this.” Hotch slid a pawn across the board and then sat back into the leather chair, pleased with himself.

“Maybe I just needed to work up to dealing with your ghost.” Reid thought about closing his eyes and playing blind. He used to do it all the time in college just for kicks. But he knew that Hotch would still be there - you can’t get away from your subconscious.

“Maybe.” Hotch shrugged, settling his orange jumpsuit across his shoulders. “So, have you decided on how to ‘deal with me’?”

“I’ve dealt with you - you’re gone.” Reid took a pawn. “It’s… this hangover that I’m having trouble with.”

“You’re _so_ angry with me. Have you ever considered why that is?” Hotch mulled his options laying a finger across his lips as he did so.

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe it was the lies, or the usury, or the obvious emotional betrayal…” Reid glared and then took another pawn. Even as a ghost, Hotch wasn’t a good chess player.

“ _I_ think it’s because I came back. Because I tried to make it right and tried to explain.” Hotch calmly stared and tented his fingers. Reid claimed one of his bishops. “You might’ve been able to live with everything if I suddenly just blinked out of your life without explanation. But because I came back, because it is so obvious how much your hatred bothers me - I can’t be that two-dimensional villain that you need me to be, can I?”

“Pop psychology is for hacks. You’re smarter than this.” Reid snapped.

“I didn’t have to come back for you, Reid.” Hotch’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “I got what I wanted from you and there was nothing compelling me to keep my promise. If I’m the asshole that you want me to be, I would’ve left you to rot in prison.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re a liar. I don’t know anything about you that’s real.”

Hotch lifted one shoulder in an ambivalent gesture before placing his queen in jeopardy on the board. “So, figure me out, Reid. You’re a genius and it’s what you do. Find out if I’m only as I seem instead of just assuming it.”

“That was a horrible move. You can’t possibly win this game… you know that, right?”

“Reid,” Hotch looked at him with warm indulgence. “You don’t really think that either one of us is going to win this, do you?”

Reid blinked and Hotch was gone. There wasn’t even an outline of a body in the chair across from him. Reid sighed and rubbed his eyes viciously so that he could pretend that they were irritated instead of something else.

“Fuck.” He said quietly and then abandoned the board for bed.


	59. Chapter 59

Reid nearly jumped off the park bench when his cell phone rang. It was new and he’d never heard the tone before. He thought that perhaps three people had the number and he wasn’t expecting a call from any of them.

“Umm, hello?”

_“Is this Dr. Spencer Reid?”_

“Yes.”

_“My name is David Rossi. I’m a unit chief in Behavioral Analysis over at Quantico. Your name came across my desk and I was hoping to discuss an opening on my team with you.”_

“Oh, umm, I think you must be mistaken, Mr. Rossi.”

_“Are you not the Dr. Spencer Reid with the near perfect case closure stats from the White Collar Crime Division?”_

“Yes, but I’m no longer with the Bureau.”

_“Regardless, Doctor, I’m really interested in talking to you about this opportunity. Your skill set, your track record, your non-conventional investigative methods are exactly what I’m looking for on my team. I feel that you’d be an incredible asset.”_

“Wait… what ‘non-conventional investigative methods’?”

_“Well… I hear that you’re the key to the upcoming federal indictment against Erin Strauss. And you did it from _inside_ the prison.”_

“Mr. Rossi,” Reid sat up a little straighter on the bench. “I think there’s been a miscommunication about my role in the Strauss investigation…”

_“No, there hasn’t. I know about your wrongful conviction in Agent Greenaway’s murder. I know that you weren’t there to make that case for the Fed, but you did it anyway when faced with the challenge. That takes balls as well as brains, Doctor, and I could use more of both in my department.”_

Reid sighed and rubbed his temple. “Mr. Rossi…”

_“Call me Dave. Mr. Rossi was my father.”_

“Dave, may I ask how my name passed across your blotter?”

_“Aaron Hotchner mentioned you, and he also told me to keep his name out of it because you wouldn’t appreciate it. But, considering all of the glowing things he had to say about you, I can’t imagine why he would think that.”_

“He knows how I feel about his presumptions.” Reid mumbled.

Rossi laughed. _“Yep, that’s Aaron alright. Arrogant is too tame a word, really… He’s proud, driven, ruthless - and I say that as a good friend. But he’s also the best legal mind I’ve ever encountered. Sharp like a blade, driven to uphold the law, and he believes in this old school ideal of honour that’s probably a generation out of step with the times. And he’s one tough son of a bitch to boot. Well, you know… you’ve met him.”_

Reid made a non-committal noise.

_“Anyway, regardless of how brutal he can be, how easily he manages to alienate people with his methods, there’s no one else that I’d rather have in my corner in a fight. He’ll stick with you no matter what and won’t stop swinging until the bell goes, ya know? So, when he came to me with nothing but praise about your qualities I paid attention. To be perfectly honest, Dr. Reid, anyone who can force that many superlatives out of Hotchner’s mouth doesn’t need to interview for a job on my team. Whaddaya say we meet for lunch and discuss it - see if it appeals to you?”_

Reid was at a loss so he opted for making more non-committal noises while Rossi arranged for lunch and his entry into a brand new career.


	60. Chapter 60

Hotch was wading through a backlog of repetitive depositions when someone knocked on his office door and reminded him that he had an incredible headache. He forgot to take a painkiller an hour ago when he’d last realized that his brains felt like they were trying to escape through his ears. He quickly dry swallowed an Advil and grunted at the door without looking up from his paperwork. Why didn’t he have minions for this sort of thing?

“Umm… your assistant appears to be… absent.”

His heart slammed to a halt before his eyes clapped on his visitor. But when they did, his chest squeezed and thudded to life again unevenly and with a stab under his ribs that made him flinch. Spencer Reid stood in his doorway looking confused and bookish and devastating in a dark suit and sharp-rimmed glasses. He shuffled an odd messenger bag across his shoulders and thinned his mouth into a slash across his face when Hotch rose from his desk.

_He’s still angry._

“I can come back if you’re busy…” Reid twitched as a courier rushed through the corridor behind him. His eyes narrowed and one hand clenched and then released, over and over, like some sort of physical mantra.

_He needs something solid to his back._

Hotch came forward and waved his hand towards a small sofa in his office. It was the only seating that had a solid wall behind it. Reid looked at it with relief and Hotch moved to close the office door with mixed feelings that he should understand the motivations of this tick so completely.

“You look well.” _You look exactly the way I imagine you every day. Except you’re free._

“I just came from lunch with Dave Rossi.” Reid fixed Hotch with a stare that told him not to bother lying.

“How is Dave?” Hotch examined his shoes.

“Wheeling and dealing. I have accepted his offer.”

Triumph welled up in him and he couldn’t help the small grin that curled his lips. Reid was born to be more than he had been allowed to be at the Bureau and Dave Rossi was exactly the man to highlight Reid’s gifts and unleash him onto the world. No more restrictive partners or boring investigation-by-numbers for Reid; he’d probably end up being the lynchpin to Dave’s team within a year. New agents would follow him around like he was a rock star.

“You need to stop doing this, Hotch.”

Hotch’s head shot up and he fell under Reid’s glare.

“Doing what?”

“Orchestrating this…” Reid’s long hands gestured expansively. “Recovery for me. You can’t fix what happened between us this way. Surely you know that.”

His gaze was sharp but his voice was gentle, almost tired, and even though Hotch was in a panic at his words, the tone soothed him. He still had hope. He didn’t know where it came from or what it lived on, but it was there nonetheless.

“Yes, I know.” He said quietly. “I just needed…”

_I need my guy._

_I need you in such an awesome and terrible and expansive way that I can’t see the edges of it. I want you to look for me and discover that you actually knew me all along. I want to tell you that you can go as far away as you want but it won’t make a difference. I’m only alone when I’m awake; every night you wander through me and I’m living my life in dreams just to prevent myself from collapsing. No one will know this. No one will see it. Only you._

“What do you need, Aaron?”

Hotch came back to himself and realized that he must have been silent for too long. Reid looked worried but also guarded. Hotch sighed to himself, but how could he expect anything more? Reid would need time to get past everything that he’d done to him, if he ever did, and Hotch wanted everything now. He needed… what did he need?

“Aaron?”

“You.” It just slipped out of him like water. He tented a hand over his eyes and tried to ground his voice one last time. “I’m sorry. All I really want is you.”

He heard the sofa creak as Reid got up. His hand still guarded his eyes, fingertips worrying the edges of his temples. He saw the toes of a pair of dress shoes stop in front of him on the carpet. They remained there a moment as he tried to pull himself back from the brink that he’d driven himself towards. He couldn’t steady his breathing. He couldn’t pull his hand from his face and reveal the wetness on his cheeks. He was coming apart at the seams and it felt like he just had to wait for the last stitch to rip free. The shoes moved away and out of his sight without a word. _Snap - that was the last thread… there it goes…_

“I’ve gotta go.” Reid’s voice was by the door. “I’ve gotta arrange to requalify for Bureau field duty. Psych profile, firearms recertification, physical testing…”

“Do you still box?” Hotch quickly wiped his face and wondered where he’d found the strength to pull off such a normal question.

“Every day.” Reid said quietly and when Hotch looked back at him he was wearing a half-smile, as if they were sharing secret knowledge of a vice or something.

“That’s good.” He couldn’t help smiling back. “Be a brawler.”

“Nik-Nik accused me of being the most ferocious nerd he’d ever met.”

“That’s quite something. I’m sure that the Bureau could use more of that.”

Reid shrugged and then turned to leave. Hotch was memorizing every facet of his exit: his fingers around the doorknob, the uneven set of his shoulders under his bag, the way his hair curled over the edge of his shirt collar. Then Reid turned back.

“You know that I’m more of a shadow boxer - not into competing or useless alpha-male displays of ferocity - but, sometimes I find it useful to spar with someone. I’ve found value in working against a target that can strategize instead of just absorbing force.” Reid arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps you could help me with that. If you had the time to spare.”

Hotch felt that his answer was tattooed across his face in amazed delirium, but managed to croak out the words anyway. “I think I’d enjoy that, Reid.”

“Don’t call me that.” Reid’s voice and expression softened suddenly. “You always called me Doc. It’s the only name I’ve ever earned.”

“Okay. Doc.” Hotch said back just as softly.

Reid nodded once, put his game face back into place, and opened the door.

“I’ll call you.”

The door closed swiftly behind him.

“I’ll take it.” Hotch murmured to the door, a smile slowly spreading across the breadth of him.


	61. Epilogue

The room was so still that the whisper of moving sheets sounded monstrous. Smaller sounds, like a held breath, shattered and reformed the sanctity of the room around them. The soft slip as lips released one another, the cinch of heated skin being grasped, the rhythmic flex and return of solid bodies giving way to each other’s pressure rose and fell around them in complicated syncopy. The room was a silent audience to the desperate tangle playing itself out on the bed.

“Doc… Doc… _please_ …”

Reid rolled his hips a little wider and thrust deeper, waiting to hear Hotch punch his head further into the mattress when he reached the right spot. He could feel Hotch arching under him, pushing his hard cock between their bellies as they both moved. Reid gave up his leverage in favor of feeling Hotch pressed against him completely. He hooked his arms behind Hotch’s shoulders, pressed his face into his neck, and stroked faster, feeling Hotch tighten around him as the man made a whimpering noise that drove Reid crazy. He wanted to last, to stretch out this delicious, supple ache between them forever, but Hotch was making all of the right noises, his cock leaking tight against their locked bodies, and Reid’s brain was rapidly narrowing to one thought: _Hotch. Need. Come._

Hotch tilted his hips and it let Reid stroke deeper. Hotch gasped at the new angle and tightened impossibly around Reid’s cock. Reid sank his teeth into the man’s neck to cover the yell that he wanted to stifle.

“Fuck!” He mumbled, and then began thrusting hard and fast. “So close… need you…”

He didn’t like commanding Hotch to come - you had to play things out as they happened, you couldn’t rush it - but, dammit, if he wasn’t close to breaking himself and desperately wanted to feel the rush of hearing Hotch peak for _him_ , at the sound of his voice. He thrust faster and tried to focus on Hotch’s staggered breathing as it brushed past his ear and haloed his shoulder with heat. He felt the shudder, then the held delay, and finally the deep grateful inhalation on his backstroke. He pushed in again, faster this time and held still for a moment. The shudder was broken by a moan before Hotch gasped in again. Reid smiled against Hotch’s neck: _Found it. Gotcha._

Reid repeated the pattern over and over, making each stroke faster but each pause a little longer as well until Hotch’s breathing became one undulating susurrus. Hotch counterattacked by reaching low and inserting a finger, clumsily mimicking Reid’s strokes. The circular sensations of penetrating, penetration, and frottage all at once was dizzying and Reid felt the familiar feeling of energy coiling in his hips that would soon make every other sensation grow dim. But he knew he’d won when Hotch’s moaning suddenly stopped and restarted in hapless bursts. He chose his words carefully for effect.

“I need my guy.” His voice broke as he whispered.

Hotch’s fingers dug into Reid’s back as he arched, twisting and tightening, and yelled something unintelligible. Warmth bloomed between their abdomens, pulsing in time with Reid’s thrusts. There was no need to hold back after that. Hotch gasped Reid’s name into his neck and Reid gave himself permission to indulge in his fantasy: _He came for me. Because of my voice. Because he’s mine and all I had to do was say it._ His vision went white as he came. He closed his eyes and contorted until every last inch of him shook with exhaustion. He collapsed in a breathless heap on top of Hotch and mumbled an apology at his lack of grace. He wanted to move - felt that he should - but his body was no longer taking calls from his brain. Hotch’s arms wrapped around his torso and held him until he heard joints popping. He kept tracing Reid’s name over his skin with his lips.

“Hey, are you okay?” He said eventually.

Reid nodded as he finally pushed himself to the side, breaking their connection. “Sex is a young person’s game.” He mumbled as he pulled Hotch into his chest.

“Imagine how I feel.” Hotch chuckled and Reid ran his fingers through the man’s hair that was now greying at the temples. He loved the way Hotch was aging; he was more attractive now than five years ago.

They stayed silent for a while until Hotch worked up to the conversation that Reid could _feel_ building in him.

“What time is your flight again?”

“7:30 a.m.” Reid smiled. He knew that Hotch hadn’t forgotten.

“I wish you weren’t going.”

“It’ll be three days, tops. And it’s not even a case, just a custodial interview. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I wouldn’t worry if it was a case. Well… that’s not true. I’d worry _less_ if it was just a case.”

Reid rearranged himself on the pillow so that he could look at Hotch’s face. “Prentiss will be with me - not that I need her - I’ve done dozens of these interviews over the years. Nothing’s ever gone wrong.”

“That’s not true.”

“What do you mean?”

Hotch sighed deeply. “It always comes back with you, haunting your steps and making you flinch. You’ve gotten better at throwing it off over the years… it used to take you weeks to come back from it. Now, it’s just days.”

“Come back from what?”

“Stir.” Hotch ran his hand through Reid’s hair. “I hate that it’s still there inside you. I hate that you can’t sit with a window or an open doorway to your back. I hate the way you look when you come home from these trips - as if you can’t believe that you made it out. _Again._ You should’ve never known any of this.”

Reid shivered a little. Hotch was right on the money - as always. Sometimes he resented that the man knew him so well. It made having a private internal life that much more difficult. But he supposed that Hotch felt the same way at times, ever since Reid had become an _actual_ profiler. Reid felt the hesitation every single time he walked through the security checkpoints at any prison: _Once that door locks behind me, they’ll own me again. I’ll never get out. I’m gonna die in here._ Maybe he didn’t need Prentiss’s help for the interview, but he was relieved that she was coming along…

“Where would either of us be now if it hadn’t happened to me?” He breathed.

“I can’t speculate about that and I’m not sure that I’d want to, but-”

“But nothing. It happened and it can’t be undone. Like Rollo said, we’ve gotta learn to live with it.” He laid his hand over Hotch’s left pec. “I don’t think that we’ve done such a bad job with that. Do you?”

Reid often wondered how Hotch felt about that. It had been a long and painful road from his release to here. It was nearly a year of hesitant successes and setbacks before Reid would even consider them ‘friends’, and another six months before he would allow Hotch to touch him without analyzing his possible motivations… It was hard to see how they’d made it, let alone grown stronger over five years.

“No.” Hotch said softly. “But I had an advantage that you didn’t.”

“What was that?”

“I knew that it was you, or no one. I absolutely believed in you.”

Reid’s stomach twisted as if he’d been punched. “Why?”

Hotch chuckled a little sadly and ran his hand through Reid’s hair again. Reid felt the strange zing that the ring on his left hand made across his scalp. “Because you made all of my bullshit real again. You brought me back to myself, to my purpose. I was never going to be a good man, Doc, but when I met you, I knew that I had to be better.”

“I think you’re a good man.” Reid said quietly after a long pause. And he meant it, even if it hadn’t always been so.

“That’s what I mean: you made me better.”

Hotch reached for him, pulling him in with strong, warm hands on either side of his face. Reid sighed inwardly at the feeling that only moments previously had seemed confining: understanding. He nipped gently at Hotch’s lower lip - once, twice - _let me into you_. When Hotch relented, Reid gave with the intensity that supplanted what he couldn’t articulate: when you are stripped of everything and manage to come back from it, what you get in return ends up being so much more than you thought possible. It is probably one of the most humbling things that can happen to a person.

_Love you. So much._

He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to say it aloud, but he hoped that Hotch knew it anyway. After all, the man was an excellent cold reader. Over the years, they’d found other ways to get their point across, ways that didn’t always seem that tender. It amused Reid to consider himself ‘typically male’ in the way that he was reticent to express his feelings. He pulled away from Hotch’s lips with a mischievous grin.

“Liar.” He breathed.

“Brawler.” Hotch answered immediately, but what Reid heard was _Love you, too._

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> In chapter 57, Hotch quotes a line - "I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you" - from [To A Stranger](http://www.poetry-archive.com/w/to_a_stranger.html) by Walt Whitman.


End file.
